


I'm Just A Ghost Story

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton is William Brandt, Crossover, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s SHEILD? <em>What’s SHIELD?</em>” Benji exclaimed, staring at Will, wide eyed. “SHIELD is only the biggest ghost story in espionage history!”</p><p>(Or: Another fic in which William Brandt is Clint Barton undercover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well guys, I'm finally doing it. I've had the idea for this fic in my head ever since the Avengers came out and I'm finally actually writing it. I know the whole Clint Barton is William Brandt thing is overdone, but I've never found one of those fics that was really, truly what I want. So instead I'm writing it myself. Enjoy!
> 
> Timeline: After MI:4 but before the Avengers.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Minor violence

Date: November 15, 2011  
Location: London, England  
Time: 10:47 pm

William Brandt laughed as he leaned back in the booth in the dimly lit pub, Benji next to him and Ethan and Jane on the other side of the table. One of his hands was wrapped loosely around a beer bottle and he took a sip from it as he listened to Benji start telling another story. They’d just finished up a major mission involving the capture of a major gun runner working out of Yerevan, Armenia, and all four of them were more than happy to have some time off. They’d only just gotten back into London a couple of hours ago, but Will already felt a hundred times more relaxed. 

Of course, it couldn’t last. 

Ethan was in the middle of saying something – probably another one of the mildly morbid jokes he was prone to – when his cell phone began ringing. He dug it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID, and the smile on his face rapidly disappeared, transforming him back into the cold, professional IMF agent that most people were used to. Will frowned and checked his own phone, but unlike Ethan, he hadn’t received any messages. 

“Agent Hunt speaking,” the team leader said, accepting the call with an unwavering voice. “Authorization code 1-1-4-india-foxtrot-romeo.” 

The person on the other end said something which Will was unable to make out, but which made Ethan’s expression even more solemn, if that was even possible at this point. Will bit his lip nervously, eyes still trained on his team leader and he tried to resist the urge to drum his finger on the wooden table, instead fiddling with his phone. 

“Understood,” Ethan responded finally, nodding. “We’ll get on it immediately.” 

With that, he hung up. 

“Benji, there should be a new mission file being sent to your laptop over the IMF server,” Ethan said, looking over at the tech agent who nodded and began booting up the laptop that he’d brought along with him, not daring to even leave it in the safe house. 

“We just finished a mission,” Jane sighed, annoyance clear in her tone. “Why are we getting another one so soon?” 

“Apparently it’s top priority,” Ethan replied, although Will was certain that he detected at least a little bit of tiredness in his voice and in the slump of his shoulders. 

“Well, what is it then?” Will questioned, putting his phone away and holding his mostly empty beer bottle with both hands now, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice. 

“There’s a man that the IMF wants us to either bring in or eliminate,” Ethan explained, folding his hands together in front of him and also leaning in. “Obviously, the Secretary would rather have him alive than dead, but they’d far prefer him dead than loose. We’ve been assigned to him because he was apparently sighted over at the London Heathrow Airport less than fifteen minutes ago. They want us to move as quickly as possible.” 

“What does the IMF want him for?” Jane asked, looking over at Benji, who appeared to have finally brought the file up and was scanning it carefully.

“It says here that he was somehow involved in the death of the previous Secretary,” Benji replied, brow furrowing in confusion, “but I thought that Sidorov and the Russian government were responsible for that. The file says that he’s a German national.” 

For a moment, Will forgot to breathe. 

“Do you have a picture of him?” Will questioned, his voice admirably steady as he hoped profusely that the person in the file wasn’t who he thought it would be. 

Benji turned the screen toward him and Will had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing aloud, almost slipping out of his carefully crafted persona and back into his true identity. After all, the slightly blurry picture staring out of the file at him was of his fiancé. At least the information they had on him seemed mostly inaccurate – it said that his name was Moritz Zachanassian and that he was a German national, both of which were plainly false. The fact that the IMF had a hit out on him was more than a little troubling, though. 

“It also says that he’s directly interfered with – and even completely compromised – three other IMF missions,” Benji continued, scrolling further down the page. “They won’t let me access many of the details, though.” 

“Are you sure we should take this mission, then?” Will asked, hoping he could derail the situation. “I mean, we’re being asked to kill someone and we don’t even really know what he’s done.” 

“Our goal isn’t actually to kill him,” Ethan pointed out, shrugging slightly. “I can understand your concern, but the Secretary was pretty insistent. If we’re not being allowed access to the details it probably means that there’s a good reason for it.”

Again, Will’s breath caught in his chest. He’d been careful, so, so careful, not to let anyone in the IMF know that he was not, in fact, William Brandt. Had he messed up somewhere? Were they on to him and was that why they weren’t releasing all of the details? Shit. 

“We should get moving,” Jane said, standing up and leaving a handful of bills on the table before pulling on her jacket and gathering her bag. “The airport isn’t far and if we act quickly we should be able to get there before he leaves.” 

Benji nodded and shoved his laptop back into its case, slinging it over his shoulder and trailing after her, Ethan following suit. Will hesitated for a moment and downed the rest of his beer before going after them, wondering what the best way to contact his fiancé would be without letting his team know about it. This situation really was going to shit quickly. And why hadn’t SHIELD notified him? Did they not know or did they have things handled already?

When he got outside, Jane had already hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take them to the airport. Will slid into the back seat next to Ethan, his mind still racing. It would take them less than ten minutes to get to Heathrow and while Phil (his fiancé) was more than capable of taking care of himself, from what Will gathered he wasn’t yet aware that the IMF was after him. Obviously he couldn’t talk directly to Phil – not unless he was able to slip away for a moment to call or text him. Of course, if it came down to it, Will would abandon his IMF team but ideally he wanted to get out of this with his carefully built cover intact. 

The cab stopped and Will closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control the feeling of anxiety bubbling up in his chest. He sighed nearly inaudibly and followed Ethan into the airport. The small IMF team huddled off to one side of the entryway, trying to come up with an appropriate plan of action. 

“Obviously a direct assault isn’t going to work in a place as open and crowded as this,” Ethan said, talking to his team but not looking at them, instead scanning the airport for their target. “We need to – ”

“I see him,” Jane interrupted, motioning discreetly at an unimposing man in a black suit and striped tie walking into the bathroom. “It looks like one of you three is going to have to go after him.” 

“You know what, I’ll guard the entrance,” Benji volunteered, smiling at Ethan and Will nervously. 

“I’ll go in first,” Will jumped in before Ethan could say anything. “I figure that he’s probably more likely to recognize Ethan than me.” 

“Good point,” Ethan replied, Jane nodding along with him. “I’ll give you a five minute head start and then I’ll come in after you, unless you give the signal sooner.” 

“Sounds good,” Will answered, glad that he’d gotten at least that much time to try and get his fiancé out of this mess. 

With that, he walked off toward the bathroom, undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt and messing up his hair slightly, hoping that the rest of his team interpreted it as him trying to disguise himself instead of him trying to look more like Clint Barton than William Brandt. He walked into the bathroom, scanning it for security cameras, relieved when he didn’t find any. Of course, the next thing his eyes were drawn to was his target/fiancé. He saw Phil glance over at him, recognizing him immediately, but like any good spy, he had no tell that would indicate that he recognized the other agent. 

“Hey,” Will – no, Clint – greeted, placing a light kiss on his fiancé’s cheek and slipping back into his true persona as he saw that there was no one else in the bathroom.

“Clint?” Phil asked, his voice soft as he quickly scanned the bathroom for danger. “How did – ”

“The IMF’s put a hit out on you,” Clint replied, glancing down at his watch to find that he had three more minutes before Ethan would barge in. “They don’t have your real name, but they know about the Secretary.” 

“Fuck,” Phil swore under his breath. 

“Ethan Hunt is going to barge in here at any moment,” Clint continued, his expression utterly serious. 

“So you’re saying that I need to rough you up a bit,” Phil sighed, clearly unhappy with the thought.

“Oh, come on, Sir,” Clint replied, smirking slightly. “You know I like it rough.” 

At that, Phil grinned and pulled the other agent in for a much more in depth kiss, but he had to pull away all too soon, and Clint had to swallow a whimper at the loss of his fiancé’s lips on his. Then, Phil swept his legs out from under him, perfectly executed so that Clint’s head just barely missed the row of sinks behind him. He was halfway out the door before Clint even opened his eyes again. 

\---

Date: November 16, 2011  
Location: London, England  
Time: 12:09 am

Ethan Hunt dabbed carefully at the small patch of blood drying in the dirty blond hair on the back of Will’s head, cleaning it and examining the injury, hoping that his teammate wouldn’t need stitches. He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest that had firmly lodged itself there the moment he saw Will’s prone body lying on the tiled floor of the airport bathroom. Their target had escaped, of course, and a special sort of rage filled his mind at the thought of the man who had hurt his analyst. 

“I’m sorry, he just – ” Will began, apologizing for what felt like the millionth time. 

“It’s fine,” Ethan interrupted, putting down the bloody towel on the table next to him and inspecting the injury more closely, trying not to focus too closely on the warmth of Will skin under his fingertips.

He idly wondered what it would be like to lean forward just a little, to press his face to Will’s neck and wrap his arms around the smaller man, to breathe in his scent and hold him close in the same way he once held Julia. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to banish those thoughts from his traitorous mind. 

“Ethan,” Jane said, walking over to the two of them from the small kitchen of the safe house, clutching her phone in one hand. “We’ve been assigned to the Zachanassian case fulltime.” 

Ethan felt Will stiffen under his hands slightly and he wondered if the man had done anything else to the analyst before giving him the head injury, the thought making his blood boil. He was going to take down this man – the man who’d hurt Will – if it was the last thing he did. 

“I’m going to go get some sleep,” Will announced abruptly, standing up from his place on the couch next to Ethan and heading over to the bedrooms. 

“Wait, Will,” Jane called, frowning at the analyst. “You might have a concussion, remember? You shouldn’t go to bed yet. You could maybe help Benji look up information about Zachanassian, though. He’s in the kitchen.” 

Will sighed, clearly worn out and annoyed, but he didn’t protest, merely nodding and turning to walk into the kitchen instead, leaving Ethan and Jane alone in the living room. Jane let out a sigh of her own and replaced Will on the couch next to the team leader, leaning back into the cushions. 

“If you don’t want him to know about this little torch you’re carrying for him, you’re going to have to be way more subtle,” she said suddenly, causing Ethan’s heart to skip a beat. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ethan replied calmly, watching as Jane’s lips twitched up into a knowing smile. 

“Sure,” she snorted, sounding less than impressed with his answer. “You know, I’ve caught him staring at you a couple of times.”

Ethan tried to appear as uninterested as possible.

“I wasn’t entirely able to read his expression, but there’s something there,” Jane continued, unperturbed by the other agent’s silence. “You should ask him out after this mission’s over.”

“Maybe I will,” Ethan answered finally and Jane gave him a nearly blinding smile. 

Ethan couldn’t bring himself to force a smile of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benji discovers something and Clint makes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, somehow I updated quickly, which never happens, so please don't expect it too often! Eh, well, enjoy!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: None

Date: November 19, 2011  
Location: Helsinki, Finland  
Time: 3:02 pm

Agent Benji Dunn was nearing the end of his rope. It had been four days since they’d first confronted Mortiz Zachanassian in the London Heathrow Airport and since then they’d been led on a wild goose chase through seven different countries. The closest they’d come to catching up with their target since London was Amsterdam and even then they’d missed him by nearly two hours. In fact, Benji would have thought that this was some sort of elaborate prank if it wasn’t for the gash on the back of Will’s head. Even then, he’d say that the analyst was in on the joke if he didn’t know the man better.

They’d decided to camp out in a cramped apartment safe house in Helsinki to try and regroup, because clearly following Zachanassian around Europe wasn’t getting them anywhere. Benji was going to have to do most of the work at this point, hacking into various databases to try and find out whatever he could about their elusive target. They knew next to nothing about his history, identity, and even his end goal. Jane and Ethan were going through old contact to see what they could find, and Will was talking with the other analysts at IMF headquarters, but so far the others hadn’t come up with anything. Not that Benji had, either. 

Until now, that is. 

The technology specialist squinted at his screen, frowning as he reread the MI6 report. Benji had been drawn to it because of a photo in it which had a man resembling Zachanassian in the background. The mission report said that MI6 had been after some sort of terrorist organization with neo-Nazi ties and had been aided by the CIA. The picture, however, told a different story. Namely, the file Zachanassian was holding told a different story. 

Benji knew that emblem printed on the front of the file. It was just that, well, he’d never actually seen it before in person. 

“Hey guys!” he called out, his voice echoing through the safe house. “Guys, I found something!”

Will was the first one to enter the room, Jane and Ethan arriving shortly afterwards. Jane was still talking to someone on her cell phone and Benji waited for her to finish talking and hang up, his fingers drumming on the table impatiently. A rush of giddiness washed over him as he wondered what it would mean if what he suspected was actually true. Something big, definitely.

“So, what is it?” Will asked, his words clipped.

Benji frowned and his good mood deflated slightly. Will had been acting a little oddly for the past couple of days. Maybe it had something to do with how the mission was dragging on, especially considering how he had been in charge of subduing the mark on the first day. Will was probably feeling a little guilty and on edge. He always blamed himself too harshly. 

“Well, at the moment it’s not much, but, well, it could be something,” Benji started, turning back to his laptop screen and zooming in on the MI6 photo. “Look at the emblem on the case file he’s holding.”

“What organization is that?” Jane asked, squinting at the screen, a look of concentration on her face. “I know I’ve seen that symbol before, but I don’t know where.” 

“It’s SHIELD,” Ethan answered, his expression stony. 

“SHIELD? But I thought – ” Jane started, only to be cut off by Will.

“What’s SHEILD?” he questioned, frowning, his arms folded over his chest in a strangely defensive posture. 

“What’s SHIELD? _What’s SHIELD?_ ” Benji exclaimed, staring at Will, wide eyed. “SHIELD is only the biggest ghost story in espionage history!”

“Yeah, well, I deal with facts, not ghosts,” Will retorted, still frowning. 

“I thought it was just a rumor,” Jane said, finishing her earlier statement, her tone disbelieving. 

“The IMF has interrogated people who swore to their final breath that SHIELD exists,” Ethan replied, leaning over Benji’s shoulder a little farther, trying to get a better look at the photograph, “but every agent we’ve ever brought in with apparent ties to SHIELD have been bailed out my some other agency and the paperwork has always checked out.” 

“And there’s no concrete paper trail,” Benji added, looking over at Will. “No electronic trail either or at least not one I’ve been able to trace and trust me, I’ve tried. This is the most evidence of them I’ve ever seen.” 

“Then how do you know it’s this ‘SHIELD’ thing?” Will asked, his tone still skeptical as he eyed Benji’s computer screen. “How do you know that that emblem is theirs?” 

“I thought you would have known about this,” Ethan said, his eyes now trained on Will, his stare piercing and probably more than a little unnerving to be on the other end of. “I know there’s a file on it somewhere.” 

“Like I said, I deal with real threats,” Will answered, shrugging casually, although Benji was almost positive that there was a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. “If all of our information is based on rumors then it probably wasn’t deemed important enough for me to look into.” 

Ethan nodded, although he looked less than convinced. Benji couldn’t help but feel the same, what with the new tension making Will more rigid than he had ever seen him. Then again, maybe it was just the mission. Will was a bit of a control freak, after all. He liked to think of things in terms of scenarios and statistics, and suddenly being told that the enemy they’re after is almost completely unknown and based on rumors probably wasn’t sitting well with him. That must be it. 

“I’ve had to work on a few projects compiling data about them before,” Benji said, digging around in his bag for a certain flash drive. “It’s not much, but it’s there. The IMF has had multiple, completely unrelated criminals say they exist and nearly all of them have been able to draw that bird insignia as identification. We’ve been able to match it to one or two photos before, but that’s about it.”

“If Zachanassian really is connected to SHIELD then maybe that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time tracking him,” Jane mused as Benji inserted his flash drive, scanning through the files until he found the one he was looking for. “Maybe he _is_ SHIELD.” 

“What does SHIELD even do?” Will asked, and Benji thought he heard a hint of curiosity in the other agent’s voice. 

“From what we know, they seem to do pretty much what the IMF does,” Benji answered brining up four more photos, each with the SHIELD emblem somewhere in them. “Then again, who knows what they do that we have no clue about. It’s a pretty fascinating study, though, like a really elaborate ‘Where’s Waldo?’ or something.”

Will gave him an odd look, but didn’t make any other comment, instead choosing to lean in to get a better look at the other photographs. One was of a mostly charred manila folder like the one Zachanassian was holding in the MI6 photo with three fourths of the insignia in the top left corner. The second was of some sort of key card which had absolutely nothing on it except for the same distinct symbol. The next was of a man running towards (or away from) something that Benji couldn’t make out, wearing a black tac jacket with a patch on his left shoulder, again with the SHIELD emblem. Finally, the last photograph contained some sort of metal bracelet – maybe a tracking chip? – adorned only with the stylized eagle.

“So there’s clearly something there,” Benji added, waving a hand at the laptop screen before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Benji, Will, I want you two to compare the locations of all of the confirmed sightings of Zachanassian and all of the locations we know of with connections to SHIELD,” Ethan ordered, straightening up again. “Jane and I will see what else we can find out about SHIELD.” 

“I’ll call my MI6 contacts and see what they can tell me about that photo,” Jane agreed, nodding to the photograph of Zachanassian still partially visible on Benji’s laptop screen.

With that, the two agents left. Benji let out an audible sigh, swiveling around in his chair to turn back to his computer. As much as he loved his tech, he also needed to get some more sleep. Maybe Jane and Ethan could keep on running after a little more than four straight days of chasing some man across the continent, but he could not. Next to him, Will plopped down in one of the other chairs at the cramped kitchen table. He didn’t seem to be faring all that much better, although Benji suspected that it was more psychological for Will while it was more physical for him. Now that he thought about it, he was the one on the team with the least field experience, and while he knew plenty about staying up at all hours hacking or programming, the jetlag was something he was still trying to compensate for. 

“You know, if you need a break I can do this,” Will said suddenly, breaking Benji out of his sleepy daze. 

“Wha? No, I can do it,” Benji replied, sitting up straighter and rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not,” Will retorted, looking half amused and half annoyed. “Anyway, it’ll be easier if you don’t have to go back and correct all of your mistakes later.” 

“I wouldn’t – ” Benji protested, only to cut himself off with a yawn. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

“Of course I do,” Will replied, although he was smiling now, which Benji counted as a win. He didn’t think that he’d seen Will smile since they’d started this mission. “Now go get some sleep.” 

“Fine, fine,” Benji muttered before stumbling off to his bedroom. 

He only made it as far as the couch. 

\---

Date: November 19, 2011  
Location: Helsinki, Finland  
Time: 4:19 pm

“Hey Boss,” Clint greeted softly, having carefully closed the door to the kitchen and checked that Benji was sleeping soundly. 

“Clint?” the voice on the other end of the phone answered, and even though he’d called for professional and serious reasons, Clint couldn’t help the joy that swelled in his chest at the sound of his fiancé’s voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” the other SHIELD agent confessed, sitting back down in his chair and pulling his knees up to his chest, clutching the phone tightly. “They’ve managed to tie you to SHIELD.”

“What? How?” Phil asked, although his tone was still controlled and unwavering. 

“Dunn found a photo with you in it in an MI6 file. You’re in the background holding a folder with the SHIELD insignia on it,” Clint answered, fiddling with a cheep bic pen with his hand which wasn’t holding the phone. “I’d send you a copy, but it’s on Dunn’s computer and he’d definitely notice if I messed with it. I’m not tech savvy enough to hide it from him.”

“I’ll have someone at HQ check it out,” Phil sighed, the hint of tiredness in his voice making Clint worry. “How much do they know?”

“Not a lot, thankfully,” the other agent replied, sifting through the files open on Benji’s laptop. “They aren’t even entirely sure that SHIELD exists, but they’re cross referencing your previous locations with places they believe are connected to SHIELD.”

“Can you send me a list once you’re done?” Phil asked, although his words were slightly muffled by the background noise from wherever he was. 

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll try to keep them away from our bases and safe houses,” Clint said, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to concentrate on what he was hearing. “Are you at the airport?”

“Turku Airport,” the other man confirmed, and Clint just barely managed to swallow a strangled groan at that. 

“You’re too close,” he replied, gripping the pen in his right hand so tightly he thought he might break it. “You shouldn’t even be in the same _country_ – ”

“I’m boarding a flight to Copenhagen in a few minutes,” Phil said, his tone gentle and reassuring, and Clint knew that he shouldn’t wish that his fiancé was here with him, but goddamn did he ever. “Then I’m off to Amsterdam, and from there Agent May is bringing me back to New York.” 

“Just stay safe,” Clint answered softly, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he is. 

“I will,” Phil replied and Clint could practically hear him smiling. 

“I love you,” Clint blurted out suddenly, blushing brightly as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“I love you, too,” Phil murmured in return and Clint could feel his heart swell in his chest. 

His fiancé hung up then, leaving Clint curled up in a tiny kitchen in a tiny apartment in Helsinki, still clutching the burner phone like it held the meaning of life. Maybe it did. He sighed again, rubbing his temples before turning back to the computer and trying to figure out how to best sabotage the IMF.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a visitor and Jane has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings.

Date: November 21, 2011  
Location: Berlin, Germany  
Time: 11:47 am

Clint let out a nearly inaudible sigh, running a hand through his hair, trying to straighten it out as he climbed the stairs to the IMF safe house he and his team were currently staying in. The apartment building had the same bland Soviet architecture as the rest of the Friedrichshain borough, the safe house a relic of the IMF’s espionage operations in what had, at the time, been East Germany. Of course, the reason that they were currently staying there was that there had been a SHIELD base a few blocks away, although Clint was the only one who knew that it had been shut down a little over nine years ago after Nick Fury’s promotion to Director. 

He entered the building, ascending the old stairs. As he neared the door, however, he slowed down, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He scanned the hallway and examined the apartment door, reaching for the gun he had concealed in the waistband of his pants. He crouched down right in front of the door to scrutinize a small stain on the hallway carpet, his blood growing cold at how much like a bloodstain it looked. The door itself didn’t appear to be tampered with, so did that mean that Jane, Benji, or Ethan…? 

Clint stood and grasped the door handle, the metal under his hand carefully reading his fingerprints before unlocking. He paused for a moment, trying to devise a plan of action, before pushing the door open in one smooth movement, swinging his gun up in preparation to shoot. 

What he found inside, however, was not at all what he’d been expecting.

“Natasha?” he asked, eyes widening as he slowly lowered his gun. 

“It’s Naomi today,” the red haired woman replied, not even bothering to look up from the file she was idly flipping through as she lounged on the couch in the living room of the IMF safe house. “Naomi Reiss.” 

“ _Why_ are you wearing my clothes?” Clint questioned, frowning at her as he looked over her attire, which consisted of one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his pajama pants – both of which were far too large. 

“That’s really what you’re choosing to focus on?” she retorted, sounding unimpressed as she idly scrawled something in the file she was holding. 

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Clint said, realizing that the door was still open and closing it before turning back to her and crossing his arms defensively over his chest. 

“There was blood all over them,” Natasha answered simply, finally shutting her file and looking over at him. “I need to wash them, and they’re still not dry yet.”

“Oh,” Clint replied, his tone concerned as he scanned Natasha’s body for injuries, wondering if he’d missed one in his initial assessment of her.

“It wasn’t my blood,” she said quickly, easing Clint’s mind by sitting up so he could see her better. “The safe house is compromised, though.”

“What?” Clint exclaims, his eyes wide. “By who?” 

“We haven’t confirmed it yet, but we suspect that it’s Hydra,” Natasha replied, handing Clint the file she had been reading. “I wasn’t sure to what extent our operations here in Berlin had been compromised so I decided to come here instead.” 

“And how exactly am I supposed to be able to explain you to my team?” Clint asked, his insides twisting as something akin to surprise or hurt flashed through Natasha’s eyes at the words “my team.” “They’ll be back any minute now.”

“I’m already registered as an IMF field agent,” Natasha answered, fishing an ID out of her pocket and handing it to Clint to inspect. “All of my credentials should check out and I expect you to vouch for me.” 

“This better work,” Clint sighed, turning the ID over in his hands before giving it back to the red haired woman. “They’re already starting to realize that I’m not acting how I usually do.” 

“And here I thought I’d taught you better, голу́бка,” Natasha replied, smirking ever so slightly. “This thing with Coulson is making you soft.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘love is for children,’ etcetera, etcetera,” Clint shot back, rolling his eyes, before walking over to sit down on the couch next to his friend and settling in to read the file she’d given him. “Now, what was it you were saying about Hydra?” 

“They ambushed me at the safe house over near Friedrichstraße,” the other SHIELD agent said, leaning back into the couch again. “It’s still unclear how they found the safe house, and the op I was on didn’t have anything to do with Hydra.”

“Did the rest of your team get out?” the archer asked, taking one of her hands in his and inspecting a shallow gash in the middle of her palm which had already scabbed over. 

“It was a small op – only Sitwell and me,” Natasha replied, not bothering to pull her hand away from Clint’s grasp. “He’s scoping out the other three safe houses right now. Our extraction is in two hours. I just dropped by to warn you.” 

“Thanks,” Clint said, releasing her hand and looking over at her, taking in her expression and the exhaustion she was hiding expertly, but not well enough for Clint to miss. “You should get some rest.” 

“Wake me up if your team gets back,” she answered, but didn’t otherwise protest, which Clint counted as a victory. 

Natasha shifted on the couch, lying down on it again and making her head comfortable on the soft part of Clint’s thighs. He ran his fingers through her bright red hair, brushing it out of its normally perfect arrangement and basking in the softness of it. Clint reached for a stack of IMF files which were sitting on a small table next to the couch and opened one, starting to read. 

Which was, of course, the position Ethan, Benji, and Jane found them in when they got back to the safe house about half an hour later. Natasha’s eyes snapped open the moment Ethan stepped foot in the apartment, saving Clint from having to wake her. (Not that it had ever been terribly likely that he’d have to wake her before she woke herself.) Ethan froze in the doorway as he laid eyes on the two of them, his hand going instinctively for the gun at his hip, Jane and Benji peering out from behind him, trying to figure out why he’d stopped so abruptly. 

“Care to introduce us, Will?” Ethan said, his words clipped as he stared intently at the strange woman lying on the couch. 

“Agent Naomi Reiss,” Natasha replied for Clint, standing up in one smooth motion and walking over to Ethan, unperturbed by the gun trained on her as she produced her credentials. “IMF field agent, specializing in surveillance.”

“Did the Secretary send you?” Ethan inquired, inspecting the ID that the other spy hand just handed him, although he didn’t lower his weapon. 

“No, I was on a separate op,” Natasha answered, smiling at him pleasantly in a way that made Clint’s skin crawl, because, fuck, that was a weird look on Natasha for anyone who actually knew her. “My extraction is in a little over an hour, so I came back here. I was unaware that you and your team were occupying it, Agent Hunt.” 

“I already did a full check,” Clint added, standing up and straightening his spine a little, slipping back into his William Brandt persona. “She’s who she says she is.” 

Benji was unable to fully suppress a snort of laughter, and it took Will a moment to realize that it was probably at the “full check” comment, considering the little bit of cuddling he and Natasha had just been engaging in. He hoped no one had noticed that the clothes she was wearing were his. Ethan looking between the two of them, his mouth tightening as he apparently came to the same conclusion as Benji. 

“Just come in already,” Will sighed, not bothering to make a scene about the conclusions his teammates had jumped to, stepping aside and letting them back into the safe house, closing the door securely behind them. 

“I need a full report on the information you’ve managed to gather on SHIELD,” Ethan announced, looking at Will again, choosing to ignore the intruder in their space and starting towards one of the bedrooms, clearly wanting to talk to the analyst in private. 

Will sighed and followed after him, closing the door to the room behind them and crossing his arms as he waited for Ethan to start talking. 

“Is this going to get in the way of anything?” Ethan asked, turning to look at Will and leaning back against the wall behind him. 

“Naomi and I don’t have that sort of relationship,” Will replied, his tone unwavering, not   
breaking eye contact with the other IMF agent. 

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looked like the two of you were cuddling on the couch while she was wearing your clothes,” Ethan shot back, and Will frowned slightly as detected a hint of some unexpected emotion in the other man’s voice which almost sounded like jealousy. 

“Look, we’re like siblings, okay?” Will retorted, fully scowling at Ethan now, because what the fuck? “She’ll be gone in an hour anyway, so you don’t have to worry.” 

“I – ” Ethan started before cutting himself off and bowing his head slightly, rubbing a hand across his face, trying to calm himself. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I think this mission is staring to get to me.” 

“Just forget about it,” Will sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking over closer to the other man. “Sit down for a moment and I’ll run you through what I’ve found.” 

Ethan still looked less than pleased, but he complied with Will’s instructions, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. Will took in another deep breath, trying to steady himself, before launching into his report and hoping that Ethan didn’t look any further into “Naomi Reiss.” 

\---

Date: November 21, 2011  
Location: Berlin, Germany  
Time: 10:39 pm

Jane Carter stood in front of Ethan and Benji who where both sitting on the bed in Ethan’s room. She tried to present herself confidently despite the heaviness of her heart in her chest as she tried to find the words she needed to break to them the unfortunate – no, more than “unfortunate” – news. 

“So are you actually going to tell us why you wanted to talk to us or are we supposed to guess?” Benji asked, quirking an eyebrow at her as he fiddled with the pen in his hands. “Also, did you check to make sure Will actually woke up and wasn’t just sleep talking or something, because sometimes – ”

“Will isn’t here for a reason,” she admitted, the silence after her statement almost deafening. “I actually got back here earlier than planned and I overheard them talking.”

“What did they say?” Ethan asked, leaning forward slightly, his expression intense. 

“I didn’t hear much,” Jane replied, crossing her arms over her chest, meaning to look severe, but instead looking defensive and uncertain. “They were already nearing the end of their conversation. Reiss mentioned someone named Sitwell and something about checking three other safe houses.”

“That name isn’t ringing any bells,” Benji said, frowning as he chewed on the end of his cheep plastic pen. 

“It shouldn’t,” Jane answered, shaking her head and sighing. “I already ran it through our databases and the only Sitwell with a connection to the IMF is a Janine Sitwell working in R&D out in Canada. Also, as of last year, we only have two safe houses located in Berlin.” 

“Did you confirm Reiss’ credentials?” Ethan questioned, stiffening, and Jane felt a pang of guilt at having to tell him all of this, having to tell him that the man he was in love with had lied to him, seemingly without regret or hesitation. 

“Her credentials actually check out, but it says she only joined the IMF recently,” Jane replied, mentally trying to come up with any valid reason for Will’s betrayal. “Then again, if she and Will really are working together, then with his clearance level as former Head Analyst he could alter almost any official document he wanted.” 

“But – I just – _why_ would he do that?” Benji sputtered, opening his laptop to confirm what Jane was telling them. “He must have some sort of reason. A really good reason.” 

“I know it can feel like we really know him, because he’s saved all of our lives before and we practically live together except for the times in between missions, but none of us had met him or even knew he existed before roughly three months ago,” Jane pointed out, her tone solemn and a little bit sad. 

The three of them were silent for a moment, each contemplating the situation they’d found themselves in, before Ethan finally said, “Benji, I want you to do the most in depth background check you can do on William Brandt.” 

The technology specialist nodded, his expression grim as he started his search, the light from the computer screen illuminating his face eerily. It also made Jane realize just how tired he looked, and in turn, just how tired she herself felt. She collapsed down into the armchair behind her, still hugging her arms tightly to her chest and trying not to show exactly how much these new revelations were affecting her. 

She _liked_ Will – she really did. He had a sarcastic sort of humor which she appreciated much more than she would admit to, and he was always so steadfast and reliable. Well, “was” being the keyword here. “Reliable” probably wasn’t the word to use for him at the moment. It hurt to think about him lying to them, to his team. Sure, he could be stiff, pessimistic, and unpleasant sometimes, but she’d genuinely trusted him.

And apparently that trust wasn’t quite as reciprocated as she’d thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ethan has a conversation and takes a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me a while to get this chapter up. Also, I'm afraid that I'm going to be in Tanzania for the next two weeks and will have minimal internet access, therefore it might be a while until my next update. Sorry!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Vague mention of emotional manipulation? Not much.

Date: November 24, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 8:12 am

It had been three days since Ethan Hunt hand encountered “Naomi Reiss” and three days since Jane had discovered that, for whatever reason, Will had been hiding things from them. They’d been monitoring him since then, trying to keep as close an eye on him as possible without letting him know what they were up to. As of yet, Ethan was relieved that Will hadn’t made any strange calls, hadn’t tampered with any of their electronic files, and hadn’t been anywhere other than exactly where he said he’d be. Therefore, at the moment at least, they had no reason to suspect Will of any sort of betrayal except for part of one conversation with a relatively new IMF agent who they were unfamiliar with. 

Then again, maybe Will was just less oblivious of their spying than they thought he was. 

Ethan wanted with all of his heart to believe that this was all just a mistake – that “Naomi” really was just another IMF agent, that “Sitwell” also worked for the IMF, and that “Naomi” had just misspoken when she’d said “three” safe houses. However, having worked in the field as long as he had, Ethan knew that entertaining these thoughts was foolish at best and deadly at worst. 

The worst part of it, though, was that these revelations had made Ethan question every single move Will had made thus far. His involvement with the Zachanassian mission was the first he’d examined, of course. After all, when they’d first attempted to capture Zachanassian, Will had been the one who let him get away. They’d been alone in that bathroom – there hadn’t even been security cameras to confirm or alleviate Ethan’s suspicions. Ever since then, they’d been two steps behind their target, and Ethan couldn’t help but wonder if that was Will’s doing. Although they worked as a team, there had been plenty of times when he could have slipped away to make a covert phone call or other sort of message. 

Of course, if Ethan was being truthful, that wasn’t the sort of betrayal he feared the most. It wasn’t what he stayed up at night questioning, and it wasn’t what made his heart throb in his chest. It wasn’t really what was important to him, because if that was it – if Will was just protecting their target – then there was a chance that he was doing it for a good reason. Knowing Will, it _had_ to be for a good reason. 

Only… how well did he actually know Will? 

Now _this_ – this was the part that scared him. As a seasoned spy, he knew that more often than not, people were not who they pretended to be, and if Will wasn’t, well, _Will_ , then the man he had steadily fallen in love with didn’t exist. 

“Hey,” a tired voice said from somewhere behind Ethan. 

Ethan turned around to find Will behind him, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, clutching a laptop in one arm. He gave Ethan a small smile and walked around the couch, sitting down next to the other spy, and Ethan tried not to focus too much on the fact that they were so close to each other that he only had to lean over a couple of inches for their shoulders to be pressed together. 

“How long have you been up for?” Will asked, glancing over at Ethan, and he felt a little shiver run along his spine at how intense the analyst’s gaze was. 

“Not that long,” Ethan replied, breaking eye contact and looking back down at the map he had in his hands on which he’d been trying to chart out Zachanassian’s movements. “A couple of hours, maybe.” 

“Fine, let me rephrase,” Will started, sounding less than impressed with Ethan’s answer. “How much sleep did you get?” 

“Four hours,” Ethan admitted, not looking up, although he could feel Will’s gaze on him. 

“That’s only half the amount that the average adult needs,” Will said, his tone that of someone merely stating a fact, but Ethan could tell it was a soft reprimand. 

“I’m not average,” Ethan countered, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a lopsided smile. “You should know that by now.” 

“Superspy and superhuman are not synonymous,” Will replied, booting up his laptop. 

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” Ethan said, shrugging, as if he wasn’t already beginning to feel the effects of nine days with minimal sleep. 

“That’s an inherently flawed statement,” Will complained, annoyed, sounding as if he’d had this argument before. “Sleep is an altered state of consciousness characterized by decreased sensory activity, a heightened anabolic state, decreased metabolism, and – ”

“Has anyone ever told you that sometimes you need to just stop thinking?” Ethan interrupted, going for an annoyed tone, but instead producing a fondly amused one. 

“No,” Will replied, glaring at Ethan in a way that was probably intended to be threatening, but was actually almost cute. “Most people appreciate the fact that I have a scenario for everything.” 

“You, William Brandt, are a control freak,” Ethan stated, his fears alleviated a little, because how could anyone fake this so well?

“You say that as if you’re not,” Will snorted, typing away on his keyboard. 

“True,” Ethan laughed, glancing at Will again before going back to his map. 

They lapsed into a companionable silence, the only sounds in the room those of Will’s fingers typing out rapid fire words on his keyboard and the soft scratch of Ethan’s pen on the paper of his map. For the first time since the discovery of Will’s disloyalty, Ethan felt genuinely at peace. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. 

Which was, of course, a completely idiotic feeling to have. 

“Hey, Ethan?” Will said suddenly, breaking the moment. 

“Yeah?” the other IMF agent replied, not looking up from his work. 

“Have I done something to annoy Jane recently?” Will asked, the sound of his typing no longer reverberating throughout the room. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ethan said, going for casual, however his mind was going into a hyper-alert state as he wondered if Will was genuinely worried or if he was probing for information. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s just been kind of distant lately,” Will answered, shrugging slightly, a concerned frown on his face. 

“Well…” Ethan started, trying to determine how much he should tell Will in order to get him to reveal his own hand. “It might have had a bit to do with you inviting Agent Reiss into the safe house back in Berlin.”

“I didn’t let her in – she let herself in,” Will protested, still frowning. “Any IMF agent can use any safe house for official IMF business.” 

“I think it had more to do with the fact that you didn’t warn any of us beforehand,” Ethan explained, watching Will carefully, but doing his best to not be obvious about it. “I can talk to her about it, though, if you’d like. Personally, I think she’s overreacting. Reiss’ credentials checked out, but the fact that you clearly trust her speaks more than any IMF file could, in my opinion. If you trust her, then you must have a good reason. That’s enough for me.” 

Will stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. However, there was nothing there to suggest guilt or anything else that would imply betrayal. Eventually his face softened, a light blush dusting his cheeks and he licked his lips nervously. 

“I – that means a lot,” he said softly, closing the gap between their shoulders, pressing his side up against Ethan’s. “Thank you. And just for the record, I trust you too. All of you – including Benji and Jane.” 

For a moment, Ethan considered kissing him. There was so little space between them, and it would only take one small motion for him to sweep Will into an embrace. But he hesitated, and that split second was enough to kill that chance as Will leaned away again and went back to his computer. Ethan’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, but the moment had evaporated. He wondered if he’d just made a huge mistake. 

\---

Date: November 24, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 9:01 am

Clint glanced over at Ethan who had somehow managed to fall asleep next to him on the couch, his black, felt tip pen still clutched tightly in one hand. He’d slumped over to the other side of the couch, his head resting on the far arm. Like always, Clint couldn’t hear any snoring, or even the smallest murmur of the other agent’s breath, and it almost seemed like Ethan was dead. He wasn’t, of course. Ethan’s uncanny sleeping silence was just another quirk of his that Clint wasn’t entirely able to explain. Even Natasha made the occasional sound in her sleep – when she was actually sleeping and not just pretending, that is. 

As he looked back to his computer screen, Clint sighed, trying not to think too hard about Natasha or Phil. It had only been three days, but even though he wasn’t unaccustomed to deep cover missions, it felt strange to not have his fiancé in his ear and his best friend by his side. Not that he was going to argue with the Reiss protocol.

The Reiss protocol was by far Clint’s least favorite protocol. Comm silence bothered him immensely, even if it was just for a few hours, and although he could go for a full day without speaking to anyone if the mission required it, he hated every moment of it. Considering that, the Reiss protocol was better than complete silence in some ways, but in most ways it was worse. After all, once it was enacted, he wasn’t allowed to make any form of contact with SHIELD until he received orders otherwise from either Natasha – who’d invoked the protocol for him – or Director Fury. His job from this point out was merely to continue his initial mission without the aid of SHIELD (or any of SHIELD’s contacts) until the protocol was deactivated. 

The worst part of it, though, was that most of the time it was used, he wouldn’t find out until much later why it had been enacted, because the Reiss protocol was almost only used when giving him any more knowledge would prove dangerous. In some ways, it felt like being abandoned. In fact, the last time he, Phil, and Natasha used it had been Budapest, and they all knew how well that had gone. 

Not to mention that the way Natasha had initiated the protocol was also troubling. He knew what she was trying to do, of course – that she was trying to give him an out if (when) the IMF found out that he wasn’t who he said he was. It was just that, well, by taking a risk that would draw suspicion to him, she was essentially telling him that the mission was compromised in such a way that there was no chance of him getting out with his cover intact. 

He hated that she had to make herself into a target to do it, though. Oh, he understood the benefit of it – the necessity of it – but that didn’t mean he liked it. The premise of the whole set up was simple: if he came under major suspicion and was confronted on it, he would “break” and confide in his team. He would tell them that he didn’t know much – that “Naomi” would ask him for classified information sometimes and he’d give it to her (all the while feeling very, _very_ guilty) because he _loved_ her. Thus the blame would be solidly shifted to a woman who didn’t exist and he’d escape in the melee. 

But although he knew that SHIELD was good (very good) at making their agents disappear, especially when other agencies were looking for them, this new game of cat and mouse with Phil worried him. Phil was very good at being a ghost, and the fact that the IMF had managed to track him for this long set off all of the alarm bells in his mind. 

Clint glanced back to Ethan for a moment, still sleeping soundly next to him. He’d noticed the other man’s attraction to him some time ago, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Now, though, he began to wonder if that affection didn’t have a darker spin to it, a more manipulative one. Even though Ethan hadn’t acted on it yet, maybe he just biding his time, trying to make it seem like a more natural progression so that he could learn more about Clint. 

Then again, he had never been good at distinguishing between real and faked affection.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benji also takes a nap, but under slightly different circumstances. Also, Clint might get himself into a little more trouble. Just a bit more. (Okay, maybe a lot.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm back from Tanzania. That's why it took so long for a new chapter. Sorry about that!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Non-graphic violence, but some description of concussions and other more minor injuries. Also kidnapping.

Date: November 25, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 2:55 pm

Benji stared out over his array of monitors and tried not to tap his fingers across his keyboard nervously as he waited in the back of the team’s van. His eyes flickered back and forth, his agitation clear in every aspect of his body, from the way he bit his chapped lips to how the small hairs on the back of his neck were standing on edge. 

He had a _bad_ feeling about this op. A _really bad_ feeling. Of course, he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was a simple process after all – they were really just scouting the area. They’d gotten a call from the IMF a couple of hours prior saying that Zachanassian had been sighted entering an apartment building in this area multiple times within the past forty eight hours. Why they hadn’t been contacted sooner, considering how they were already in the area, Benji didn’t know, but maybe the Secretary just didn’t want their target to bolt right away yet again. 

Their job at the moment was just to scout out the place, and they were under strict orders to not engage unless necessary or unless they were absolutely certain – one hundred percent – that they could take Zachanassian alive. Of course, even though this was supposed to be a low risk operation, Benji couldn’t tamp down on the feeling that something here was fundamentally wrong. However, he had no evidence to support this strange sensation.

Well, unless you counted the whole thing with Will. Benji was, for his own sanity, ignoring that. Which, you know, probably wan’t wise or healthy, but he wasn’t nearly as good at compartmentalizing his emotions as Ethan and even Jane were. Then again, he supposed that he had less trust issues than the two of them, so they were both probably taking it harder than was readily obvious. 

He wasn’t entirely sure that he was on edge because of Will, though. 

“Hey, Cirrostratus,” Benji started, switching to a private frequency and pressing his comm close to his ear, naturally keeping his voice low even though this frequency wasn’t connected to the others. 

“What is it, Cirrus?” Jane’s calm voice replied, although Benji could tell that she was at least a little tense and that his sudden call probably wasn’t making anything less stressful. 

“It’s probably nothing,” Benji said as his eyes darted between the various computer screens he had in front of him displaying all of the different camera feeds, on alert for any sort of anomaly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“You too?” Jane asked, surprised. “Can you pinpoint why?”

“No,” Benji admitted, running a hand through his hair distractedly and leaning back in his chair. “Have you seen anything strange?” 

“I would have said something if I had,” Jane sighed, and there she was, in the bottom corner of his far left laptop, on the sidewalk next to the rusted Toyota. “My intuition tells me something is off, though.” 

“Do you think I should ask Cumulonimbus about it first or should I include Stratus, too?” Benji asked, chewing on his lip again and going back to tapping his fingers distractedly on one of the computer keyboards. 

Jane was silent for a moment, turning over the question in her mind, still clearly reluctant to completely trust Will. Which, of course, made sense. 

“Talk to Cumulonimbus first,” Jane said finally, her tone one of finality even though it was clear in her voice that she at least wanted to trust Will. 

“Will do,” Benji replied, glancing once again at Jane in his laptop monitor. “Can you stay where I can see you for just – ”

Benji cut himself off as he heard the sound of the van door being wrenched open. His hand immediately went to the gun in his thigh holster as he started turning to the source of the noise. Before he could even get his finger on the trigger, a black bag was shoved over his head. The last thing he saw before being enveloped in darkness was Jane being pulled backwards into the old Toyota behind her. Then, something that felt distinctly like the butt of a gun slammed into the back of his head and he lost consciousness. 

\---

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

Clint woke up to find the base of his skull throbbing in pain. He fought to keep his eyes closed, not giving into his immediate instinct to open them. He tried to steady his breathing, although he knew that if anyone observed him too closely they’d make him in a split second, because his heart was still beating overtime, like that of a frightened rabbit. No matter how many times he was captured, he’d never been able to tamp down on that adrenaline fueled fight or flight instinct that had been instilled in him since childhood. 

Clint tried to focus on his surroundings. He was sprawled on the floor, his side pressed up against the cold, hard concrete. It didn’t have the same rough texture as a sidewalk, though. It was smoother, which suggested that he was in a basement of some sort, as opposed to a parking garage or someplace to that effect. The SHIELD agent was unsure how long he’d been out, so he had no clue what time it was, although from what he could tell from the bit of light permeating his thin eyelids, all of the light illuminating the room was artificial. Which wasn’t exactly unexpected, but did support his basement idea. Of course, because he had no idea how much time had passed, he also had no idea if he’d been taken anywhere. Hell, he could be in the very same building his IMF team had been monitoring. 

A faint murmur of noise registered in Clint’s ears and he tensed involuntarily. However, he relaxed a moment later as he recognized the voices, if not the words. Jane and Ethan both appeared to be conscious, although they were conversing too quietly for Clint to make out what exactly they were saying. So far he hadn’t heard Benji’s voice, but he could always still be out for the count. 

The agent contemplated pretending to still be unconscious for a little while longer in order to try and decipher his teammates’ conversation, but after a moment he gave up – they were too far away and his brain was still throbbing from taking a gun to the back of head. (Which he was still berating himself for not noticing before it was too late. Fuck, working for the IMF had made him go soft.)

He let out a soft groan, trying to make himself obvious, as if he was acting on instinct after having just escaped unconsciousness. He reached one hand up to run it through his hair, moving it to the back of his head to check for any abrasions, pleased when his hand came away dry instead of sticky with congealed blood. He blinked blearily over at Ethan and Jane, glad that his vision wasn’t blurry, at least. So far he wasn’t dizzy and he hadn’t started vomiting, which was good, but the mere fact that he’d been unconscious for an unknown length of time was worrying. Not that he exactly had time to be concerned about it now. 

“So, you’re awake,” Ethan said, looking at Clint and moving over to his side and carefully running his own hand through Clint’s hair to check for injuries, Jane following him and then helping Clint into an upright position. “You certainly took your time.”

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, although he leaned into Jane and Ethan’s hands, for a split second in his still disoriented state imagining that it was Phil with his hand in his hair and Natasha with her arms around his shoulders. “Benji?”

“Still out,” Jane answered, her lips pressed in a tense line as she glanced over at the tech agent who was about a foot to their left, still curled up on the concrete in a fetal position. 

Clint felt a surge of rage build in him as he focused his vision on Benji well enough to notice the unnatural angle two of his fingers were at – possibly from when their attackers had pried his gun out of his unconscious hands. After all, Benji had a surprisingly strong grip, particularly when he was nervous or frightened. 

“We should splint them,” Clint said, still staring at Benji’s fingers, Ethan and Jane following his gaze. “Here, I can – we should – ”

The archer tried to push himself closer to Benji, but was nearly overcome buy a wave of dizziness, causing him to double over, Ethan pulling him back against his chest in order to support him. Fuck. Well, he was quite certain he had a concussion now. Just his luck. 

“I’ll do it,” Jane volunteered, taking her hands off of Clint in order to tear off a bit of her t-shirt, making it into multiple smaller strips. 

She scooted over a little bit so that she was right next to Benji, and then attempted to carefully straighten out his broken index and middle fingers. However, as she moved his fingers, the IMF agent’s eyes fluttered open and he let out a soft cry of pain, instinctively pulling his hand away. 

“Benji. Benji it’s me, Jane,” Jane said, putting a comforting hand on Benji’s cheek and holding the wrist of his injured hand so that he wouldn’t move it around and damage it further. “You’re fine. We’re fine. I just need to split your fingers, okay?”

Benji blinked up at her blearily for a moment before his dazed eyes darted over to look at Clint and Ethan, relaxing as his mind registered who they were. He then looked down at his broken fingers, staring at them for a moment. 

“What happened?” he asked finally, looking to the three of them as if they had any more answers than he did. 

Which, Clint supposed, he kind of did. Kind of. He had some suspicions, but they weren’t exactly ones he could share with the class. 

“We’re not sure,” Ethan admitted as Jane went back to setting Benji’s fingers in an anatomical splint, binding the two broken fingers to his unbroken ones with the strips of cloth from her shirt as the other IMF agent girt his teeth and tried to concentrate on their team leader’s words. “The most likely explanation is that Zachanassian got tired of being on the defensive and decided to set a trap for us. We haven’t seen anyone else yet, though.” 

Which, of course, Clint knew was completely wrong. Well, wrong in the sense that “Zachanassian” sure as hell wasn’t their kidnapper. The idea that it was a trap was probably spot on, though, and Clint was mentally berating himself for not seeing it coming. 

“Any possible escape routes?” Clint asked, looking to Ethan and Jane as she helped Benji into a sitting position, propping him up against the wall.

“None that we could find,” Ethan answered, shaking his head. “There are no windows or weak points in the walls. Same goes for the ceiling and floor. The door is reinforced steel and the hinges are coated in some sort of lacquer to strengthen them. There’s no keyhole or even a handle from our side, so there must be some sort of keypad on the outside.” 

“They also were very thorough when they searched us. They took all of our weapons and technology,” Jane added, looking over at Clint with a seemingly neutral expression, but Clint could see a hint of doubt concealed just under her skin.

Clint was surprised to find that her suspicion hurt more than he’d expected it to. Which was stupid, considering she was completely right to not trust him. He tried not to think about the SHIELD tracker embedded just under the skin of his left shoulder when she said that they’d taken all of their technology.

The undercover SHIELD agent was about to ask another question, but just as he opened his mouth, the door of their prison swung open to reveal four men dressed in black leather tac suits. Clint was unable to make out any of their features, as they were all wearing masks which were eerily reminiscent of gas masks. Each of them had a gun trained on one of the IMF agents and Clint only considered storming them for a brief moment before completely discarding the idea. 

He also didn’t have to be able to fully see the small, red emblems on the shoulders of their uniforms to know exactly who – or, rather, what organization – they were dealing with. Not that it actually surprised him. 

“You,” one of their captors demanded, motioning to Clint with his weapon. “You’re first.”

Well, fuck. He hoped that Natasha and Phil decided to deactivate the Reiss protocol, because otherwise he was in trouble. This was like Budapest all over again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint faces his enemies. Will faces his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: The rating for this story has gone up! Please check the trigger warnings in the future, particularly for this chapter!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: GRAPHIC TORTURE, graphic violence, and vague suggestion of rape
> 
> If you want to skip the torture bit, first read the summary of important bits in the notes at the end of the chapter and then read the second half of the chapter, below the dashed line.

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

Clint Barton was tied to a chair. Normally he would laugh at his captors for using something as mundane as rope to try and restrain him, but this seemed to be some sort of special reinforced cable. Basically, it didn’t seem that he’d be going anywhere soon, especially with his head still spinning from the concussion his assailants had so generously given him earlier and the nausea wracking his intestines. 

A very pale man with white-blond hair and sharp, grayish eyes entered the interrogation chamber (because that’s the only thing this small concrete box of a room could be) and it only took Clint a split second to decide that if the guy got too close, he’d be more than happy to throw up on his neatly polished – probably not standard HYDRA issue – shoes. The guy looked at Clint for a moment, his eyes calculating before carefully moving into a position just out of projectile vomit range. Clint gave him a sarcastic look of approval. Not that this guy could probably interpret it for what it was. 

Phil would have been able to, of course. Same with Natasha.

The door to the cell closed with a dull, distinctly metallic thud. The interrogator and Clint stared at each other in silence, both daring the other to crumble and speak first. It was impossible for Clint to say how much time actually passed – probably no more than a minute in reality – but he felt a surge of self righteous pride as the other man broke the silence. 

Of course, the words he used were much less comforting. 

“Agent Clinton F. Barton, designation 3-3-4-5-5-6-India-Oscar-Whiskey-Alpha. Codename Hawkeye,” the pale faced man rattled off, his eyes eerily unblinking. “To be Legally married to Agent Philip J. Coulson by the state of New York under the false identities of Mrs. Francis and Jason Cole in two months.”

Clint felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He wanted take in a ragged breath, wanted to steady his body and his reeling brain, but he couldn’t – not without revealing how unsettled all of this made him. He wanted to close his eyes and process everything, to think up a plan. 

If his captors had only known his real name and codename he wouldn’t be so unsettled. They were relatively difficult things to find out, but he had no doubt that an organization as extensive and precise as HYDRA would do their research and find out those relatively unimportant facts. The fact that they knew his designation codes was worrying and had set him on edge, but what really got him was how they knew of his marriage to Phil. That was something that they should _never_ been able to find. Of course, it wasn’t like he and Phil hid their relationship – it wasn’t some sort of huge secret – but the fact that HYDRA knew the false identities they’d registered under was profoundly disturbing. 

Not that he could let this HYDRA goon know how much this had shaken him. Clint did his best to steady his beating heart and stared straight ahead, schooling his expression and blinking casually, as if this information meant nothing to him. The HYDRA agent silently stared at him for a moment before continuing. 

“Tell me the location of Phil Coulson and I promise not to lay a finger on you or the rest of your team,” the interrogator proposed, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at Clint expectantly. 

“I fail to see how that’s supposed to sway me,” Clint answered after a moment, staring back at the other man impassively, sounding practically _bored_. “If you’ve been monitoring me as well as I think you have been, you would know that they’re not actually my team.” 

“True,” the interrogator replied, inclining his head slightly and unclasping his hands, one of them trailing over a tray of instruments which Clint really didn’t want to focus on at the moment. “Then I suppose I’ll begin.” 

Clint couldn’t help but look now as his captor selected a blade off of the sterilized, silver tray. It was a longer knife than Clint would have expected the man to chose, but, quite honestly, it was probably the smartest choice. 

See, most people forgot how effective a weapon teeth were. (Clint never did.) Of course, the downside of using your teeth were that they had a pretty limited range and as long as his interrogator was careful and kept just far enough away, Clint was back to square one. 

Clint knew he was in deep shit as soon as his interrogator made his first move, which was to grab a fistful of Clint’s hair and pull his head back, contorting his neck uncomfortably and hopefully not hyperextending it to the point of injury, effectively squashing any hope of Clint being able to attack him unless he literally shoved a body part into the archer’s mouth (which, while certainly a form of torture, was not one that Clint thought his captor would be stupid enough to try). 

The SHIELD agent did his best to calm himself as he felt the cold flat of the HYDRA interrogator’s blade on the column of his throat. He kept his eyes open the entire time, never once breaking eye contact, as he waited patiently for the other man to move the blade, to feel the bite of the metal slicing easily into his tanned skin.

Only, just as Clint began to wonder if this torture was going to be purely psychological, in a lightening quick move, his captor drew back the knife and stabbed it down into Clint’s right hand, driving the knife cleanly between his metacarpals and through the flesh until it embedded itself into the wood of the chair arm with a dull thunk. Clint was unable to hold in the horse yell that ripped itself from his throat, his eyes involuntarily widening in surprise. The archer clamped his mouth shut again, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily, his eyes still trained directly on the pale man in front of him. 

His interrogator studied him carefully with an expression unchanged from before, make a small tutting noise, as if Clint was just a child who had forgotten to do his homework. He unclasped his hand from around the hilt of the knife, letting it stand there on its own, protruding from Clint’s hand in a thoroughly morbid fashion. He then straightened himself out, pulling himself up to his full height and looming over the restrained archer. 

“You know, it’s not like we’re planning on killing your husband,” the interrogator said, looking down at Clint with a considering expression. “All we want is the location of the Tesseract. In fact, we wouldn’t have involved you at all if it wasn’t for the fact that only Tony Stark, Nicholas Fury, and your husband know the device’s location. And, just between the two of us, Agent Coulson was a little easier to get to than the other two.” 

“Oh yeah, _much_ easier to get to. That’s why you had to resort to kidnapping me, right?” Clint retorted through gritted teeth. 

The HYDRA operative’s eyes narrowed and he pulled back on Clint’s hair, contorting the archer’s neck even further. 

“All you have to do is tell me where he is,” the pale man said, roughly pulling the knife out of Clint’s hand before pressing the bloodstained metal to Clint’s neck again, allowing the SHIELD agent to feel the warm stickiness of his own blood against the skin of his neck. 

Clint spat in the other man’s eye. 

\---

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

Jane jerked her head up abruptly as she heard the cell door open. However, before she was even able to get to her feet, Will was shoved inside and the door was slammed shut again with a loud thump that reverberated through the room. Jane let out a frustrated growl, knowing that it was going to be a while before they had another opportunity to escape. She, Ethan, and Benji had made the mistake of assuming that their captors would take another one of them upon returning Will to the fortress of a cell. Apparently they were wrong. Did that mean that Will had already given them all of the information they needed?

Ethan was already crowding Will, propping him up in a sitting position and checking over his injuries. No one in the room missed the way he flinched slightly at Ethan’s touch, and although they all knew that it wasn’t actually Ethan he was afraid of, Jane didn’t miss the brief flash of hurt that displayed itself on the other agent’s face. 

The closer Jane got to Will and the more she looked at him, the more worried she got. The rope burns on his wrists and the bruises mottling his neck and left cheek were sadly in tune with what she’d been expecting. The way his right hand and part of his inner arm were bandaged worried her. The way these injuries were tended to chilled her blood, because it could only mean one thing: that these people wanted them alive at all costs, and that another torture session hung ominously in Will’s future. 

“What did they ask you about?” Jane questioned, gentle but unwavering. 

Will hesitated. As Jane watched him, she could practically see his mind whirring through the calculations, analyzing scenario after scenario, picking and choosing the words which would have the best effect. Of course, she wasn’t entirely sure if he was picking out the best lies or the best truths. 

“I – ” Will started before cutting himself off, licking his lips nervously and turning to look Jane directly in the eye. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you guys.” 

Jane blinked in surprise. This was… well, not what she had been expecting. Not entirely, at least. Maybe she’d underestimated Will’s loyalty to the team. Oh, she hadn’t entirely stopped trusting him after finding him conspiring with Agent Reiss, but she’d been under the impression that his love for Reiss ran deeper than his loyalty to her, Ethan, and Benji.

“Yes?” Jane asked carefully, trying to be open and nonthreatening. 

“You were right, you know,” Will said, looking at her with terribly tired eyes. “You were right to be suspicious of Naomi. I just – I was so _stupid_ – I – ”

Will cut himself off again and looked away, staring at the concrete floor. 

“Wait, you mean that she…?” Benji inquired, the words “sold us out” going unsaid as he stared, wide eyed, at Will, who gave one small, stiff nod.

“I overheard you two talking, you know,” Jane admitted, causing Will to jerk his head up to gape at her, clearly surprised. “Something about someone named Sitwell and three other safe houses in Berlin when the IMF only has two, total. Care to explain?”

Will stared at her for a moment longer before sighing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said that Naomi is like a sister to me. We’ve known each other since we were children,” Will answered eventually, leaning back into Ethan’s arm which was still around his shoulders, supporting him. “We fell out of touch a few years ago, but then about ten months ago she found me again and asked me if I could get her a job. I… bent a few rules to get her in, and it just kind of escalated from there.” 

“What did you do?” Benji blurted out, causing both Jane and Ethan to glare at him. 

“Just little things,” Will confessed, his expression tense. “Or, well, I _thought_ they were little things. You know, letting her see mission reports she wasn’t supposed to see, letting her use my private computer, that sort of thing. I tried to refuse a few times, but she always had a way of talking me into it.”

“Do you know what she was doing with all that information?” Jane asked, and Will shook his head reluctantly, causing Jane to press her lips together in tight line. 

“She never told me much and I tried to ignore it by not asking. Which was _so stupid_ of me! I can’t believe that I – that I was – ” Will exclaimed, letting out a growl of frustration at himself and balling his right hand into a fist, wincing as he was rudely reminded of his injury. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You are,” Jane agreed, causing Ethan to shoot her an annoyed look, but, hey, it was true, and Jane was willing to cut Will some slack, but the truth was that they probably wouldn’t be stuck in this prison if Will hadn’t acted the way he had. “So what exactly do these guys want?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, his voice strained. “Very little of what my interrogator said made any sense to me. I think that he assumed I know a lot more than I actually do.”

“At least that makes it easier for you to withhold the information they need,” Jane replied, her brow furrowed in thought as she tried to figure out what their next step would be. “We need a proper escape plan.” 

The “or we’ll all be slowly and painfully killed” went unsaid, although Jane could tell that they were all thinking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half summary: Clint's HYDRA captor knows his real name (not his IMF alias) along with his SHIELD designation code, and the fact that he's married to Coulson. The HYDRA operative then tortures Clint in order to get him to reveal Coulson's location, because HYDRA is looking for the Tesseract and Fury, Coulson, and Stark are the only ones who know its current location. Clint doesn't give away anything. 
> 
> Also, PSA for everyone: The thing that Clint says about using your teeth as a weapon is actually really important! For example, if you're attacked by someone and they grab you and pull you close to them, chances are that your mouth is going to be pretty close to their neck, and even if you're otherwise restrained, you can still bite. Also, if you're sexually assaulted and your attacker tries to kiss you, if you get their tongue in your mouth, you can bite down on that to get them to release you. Same goes for forcible oral sex. So keep that in mind if you ever get attacked (which I'm certainly not wishing on any of you, but these are still good things to know).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A daring escape is attempted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Fairly graphic violence, talk of torture

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

This was the third time Clint had been dragged out of his – or, rather, his IMF team’s – cell in as many days (or, well, he suspected that it’d had been three days since they’d been captured). He’d spent the last few minutes since the guards had come to drag him out trying to compartmentalize, to remind himself that the situation wasn’t quite as bad as it could be, because at least HYDRA hadn’t bothered with Benji, Jane, or Ethan. Yet. Of course, this probably had to do mostly with the fact that he was ninety nine percent sure that there was still one more mole in the IMF that he hadn’t found yet, and if the IMF had a hand in this, they probably didn’t want to deal with piecing their top strike team back together after such an experience. 

Clint didn’t really want to test that theory, though. In fact, he could already feel the time ticking down to when HYDRA would decide that their pet superspies weren’t worth his continued silence – that the IMF team wasn’t worth the unlimited power of the tesseract. In the few sessions they’d already had, Clint had insisted to his as of yet nameless interrogator that Jane, Benji, and Ethan meant nothing to him, but there was no way HYDRA would actually take him at his word. Clint’s stomach clenched at the thought of his friends – because somehow or other he’d started thinking of them as such – being subjected to this sort of pain, but he kept his expression blank, hoping that his captors didn’t detect how nervous he was. 

What he really needed now was to escape. The problem was that calling SHIELD was right out. After all, the Reiss protocol was still in effect, and even if it wasn’t, at this point he was fairly sure that the only people who he could go to were Phil and Natasha (or, rather, those were the only people he felt he could completely, totally, absolutely trust). The longer he spent in this dungeon and the more information his interrogator revealed about his knowledge of SHIELD and Hawkeye himself had given Clint a certainty that HYDRA had someone inside SHIELD. Someone pretty deep in their ranks, actually. 

As for the IMF, it wasn’t like he could count on them to help him out either. They were clearly in on it too – the fact that they’d fallen into this trap because they’d been following faulty IMF information practically screamed their involvement. In fact, the rest of his team – the actual IMF agents – would probably get released back into their ranks the moment Clint squealed. 

Not that he was going to squeal. 

Basically, all he had left was himself, then. Well, he had Ethan, Jane, and Benji, too, he supposed. They weren’t bad to have in a situation like this. In fact, Clint was pretty sure that they could’ve made it as SHIELD agents if they’d gotten recruited. They’d have to expand their view of reality and their ideas of what should and shouldn’t be possible, but that wasn’t too hard to do, was it? 

Suddenly, the blindfold came off and Clint’s eyes were flooded with bright, nearly blinding light. He found himself, once again, tied down to the same rickety wooden chair he’d been in for the past two days, and had to resist the urge to flinch as he saw his usual interrogator standing in front of him, just a touch too close. (Of course, within ten miles of him was ideally how Clint would define “too close” in relation to the HYDRA operative, but the way the man was standing now was even closer than too close.)

Then, Clint caught sight of the all too familiar blade in the man’s hand. He sighed, closed his eyes, and waited for the first cut. 

\---

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

Ethan’s head jerked up as he heard the sound of the cell door opening. Will, worryingly limp and maybe even unconscious this time, was thrust back into the concrete room in the same manner he had been before. Ethan, who’d been waiting patiently next to the door with Jane, Benji hanging further back, sprang forward, jamming his foot in the quickly closing door and wrenching it back open, ready to attack the guard. Jane grabbed Will as the startled guard dropped him, passing him quickly to Benji before following Ethan’s lead and darting out into the hallway. 

Ethan cursed their luck as the first guard fell to the floor and the other two guards began to advance on him. He hadn’t expected them to have knocked Will unconscious, and although he hadn’t expected Will to be in a fighting fit state, he’d been counting on Will being able to move on his own at least. This was going to be tricky. 

Jane had already disarmed one of the two remaining guards, taking him down with a quick uppercut, knocking his chin up and his neck back with a sickening crunch as he stumbled back and crumpled to the floor. Ethan, meanwhile, grabbed the fallen kidnapper’s gun while the last guard was distracted, shooting him cleanly and precisely in the chest. 

He looked around for Benji, finding him standing in the doorway with unconscious Will awkwardly clutched in his arms, as his sharp eyes glanced this way and that along the hallway, trying to determine the best way to head in. Ethan couldn’t help but notice how tightly Benji had his jaw clenched – probably because the way he was holding Will up was putting a lot of direct pressure of his broken fingers. 

“I’ll take him,” Ethan said, walking over to Benji and reaching out to pick up Will. 

“But we need you to – ” Benji began to protest, but Ethan cut him off, shaking his head. 

“Your hand’s already bothering you and you’ve only been holding him for a few minutes,” Ethan pointed out, gently but firmly prying Benji’s hands away from Will. “We need to move quickly and you’ll be slowing us down if you’re constantly shifting your grip on Will.” 

“Okay,” Benji sighed, fully releasing Will and allowing Ethan to properly pick up the other IMF agent and sling him over his shoulder. 

Jane, who had gone further down the hallway to check around the corner, glanced back at them and motioned them over, giving them the all clear signal. Ethan made sure he had a good grip on Will with one hand and a good grip on one of the kidnappers’ guns with the other hand before walking swiftly down the hallway. Benji followed, slightly distracted by trying to figure out how to properly grip his gun with his left hand, as his trigger finger on his right had been broken. 

The three (well, technically four) IMF agents rounded the corner, moving as silently as their rushed pace would allow. However, as they turned right around the next corner, they were confronted by five armed guards, rushing towards them at full speed. Ethan, Jane, and Benji ducked back around the corner, a rapid fire spray of bullets peppering the wall. As soon as it slowed, Jane leaned back around, taking out one of them with two steady shots – one to the shoulder and one to the stomach - before doubling back. 

Soon enough, though, the four remaining guards rounded the corner, divesting the IMF agents of their small amount of cover. Benji tried shooting at them, but his aim was off and his non-dominant hand wasn’t quite prepared for the recoil, causing him to swear creatively as his shot hit the wall just beside one of the guards’ heads. Jane was having better luck and managed to get one of the other guards squarely in the chest, although a moment later she let out a pained gasp as an enemy bullet grazed her bicep. 

Ethan brought up his own gun, preparing to fire at one of the remaining three guards, however, before he was able to pull the trigger, all three abruptly crumpled to the floor. Ethan’s eyes widened and he turned his gun to face the figure – or, rather, two figures – emerging from around the corner. 

To say that he was surprised to find Agent Naomi Reiss pointing a gun at him was an understatement. He was even more surprised to find Moritz Zachanassian standing next to her. 

“Wha – ” Benji blurted out, voicing Ethan’s own internal confusion, however he was cut off by Reiss’ own commanding tone. 

“You’re coming with us,” Reiss said, ordering them around as if she believed that they would automatically comply. 

“You sold us out. Why would we agree to go with you?” Jane asked, her voice as tight as her grip on her weapon. 

“Agent Carter, that wasn’t a request,” Zachanassian replied, a strangely polite smile on his face as he addressed her. “Not to mention the fact that we just saved your life. Surely that counts for something.” 

Jane glanced at Ethan, her expression unhappy as she nonverbally asked for his opinion on the situation. Internally, Ethan sighed. He decided to bite the bullet. With Will unconscious and Benji injured, it would be difficult or even impossible for them to get out of this compound without assistance. They’d have to stick with Reiss and Zachanassian until they got out of the building, but after that they’d make a break for it. After all, then they’d just have two enemies, both of whom seemed to want them alive. Ethan, meanwhile, had no problem with taking the kill shot. 

“Fine,” the IMF team leader answered, shifting Will's weight on his shoulder. 

(He didn’t miss the way Zachanassian’s eyes tracked the movement and narrowed, his polite expression becoming ever so slightly more hostile.)

Ethan, Benji, and Jane followed Reiss and Zachanassian through the tangled maze of concrete hallways. So far they’d only encountered three more guards (all of which Reiss had taken down with relative ease – the sort of which set Ethan on edge), and Ethan was glad for the remarkable lack of conflict. At the same time, though, Reiss, who was leading, appeared to be making almost random turns – there was no clear method behind them that the IMF agent could decipher – and he opened his mouth to ask her if she actually knew where she was going. However, before he was able to get the words out, she pushed through a door on their right, revealing a flight of stairs. In fact, if Ethan squinted, he could even make out the faint red glow of an emergency exit sign somewhere near the top. 

Reiss started the ascent first. Benji glanced back at Ethan, and Ethan gave him a look which he hoped conveyed at least the main idea of his makeshift plan, before following behind her. Jane hung back with Ethan for a moment and she gave Ethan a little nod, signaling him to go in front of her. Of course, the IMF agent couldn’t help but notice the way Zachanassian hung back, only starting up the stairs after Jane began following Ethan. 

By the time they had reached the top of the stairs, Ethan, Jane, and Benji were already beginning to fall into position, and Ethan had already taken a tally of the number of bullets he had left. Even though he’d only fired one, there were only eleven bullets left in the clip. Ethan really didn’t want to think about what those extra four bullets had been used for. 

However, just as Ethan brought up his gun to aim at Reiss, she flung the emergency exit door open. Bright sunlight streamed through, and Ethan reflexively closed his eyes, struggling to adjust considering how he’d been trapped underground for what he was fairly sure had been at least three days. Zachanassian, naturally, took this moment of weakness to strike. Ethan felt something metal press against his back and suddenly he felt a horrible shock travel through his body. He felt himself convulse, his grip on both his gun and Will slackening before darkness consumed him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will says goodbye. Clint says hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: someone gets drugged

Date: November 28, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 1:12 pm

When Benji woke up, it was to the feeling of a surprisingly soft mattress under his back and to the sound of Will’s voice nearby. Benji was still dizzy and tired enough that he couldn’t quite make out what the other man was saying, but the timbre of the other agent’s voice was comforting enough. (Even though it probably shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t supposed to trust Will, was he? Logically, he shouldn’t.) 

“You okay, Benji?” another voice asked, Ethan’s this time. 

Benji turned onto his side and blinked, clearing his vision, so that he could focus on the three agents sitting at a small table only a few feet from the bed he was still curled up on. He blinked again as he realized that there were actually five people at the table – not three. 

“Oh, just peachy. It wasn’t like I was tasered or anything,” he grumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing his forehead, trying to will away his headache. 

“Sorry about that,” Agent Reiss said, although she sounded far from legitimately apologetic, and for the hundredth time since finding out about her existence, Benji wondered what her problem was. 

“And you three!” Benji continued, turning to Jane, Ethan, and Will, glaring at them. “What the bloody hell are you doing having some sort of civil conversation with the people who just kidnapped us?” 

“Technically, we saved you from your kidnappers,” the other stranger – Zachanassian – replied, his tone deceptively mild, just as it was earlier. 

Before he’d tasered them, that is. 

“But you sold us out,” Benji protested, still scowling as he managed to turn himself around so that he was sitting on the side of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor. 

He faltered slightly as he realized that his fingers had been bandaged properly. None of his teammates had the supplies to do so and he couldn’t for the life of him think of any reason for Reiss and Zachanassian to help him like this. 

“We didn’t sell you out,” Reiss snapped, startling Benji. “The IMF has a mole.” 

“You mean, other than you,” Jane shot back, her tone absolutely brimming with sarcasm. 

“I’m trying to help,” Reiss replied, visibly calming herself before answering coolly. 

“But you – ” Benji started, only to be cut off by Will, who sounded terribly exhausted and generally at the end of his rope.

“Why don’t we just start from the beginning?” he said, and it should have been comforting and logical, like Will always was, but for some reason his use of the word “we” struck Benji as horribly wrong and out of place, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. 

Benji made a move to stand up, testing his balance, pleased to find that after a momentary wave of dizziness he was able to stand and walk without impairment. He took the few steps over to the only open chair, which, luckily for him (please note the sarcasm) was between Jane and Reiss. Meanwhile, Zachanassian opened a bottle of water, the seal breaking audibly. He poured some into the glass sitting in front of him and took a sip before offering the bottle to Ethan as some sort of awkward peace treaty. 

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Benji was suddenly hyperaware of how dry his mouth was and how terribly thirsty he felt. They’d gotten a bit of water to drink sometime during what he suspected was their second day trapped underground, but nothing much after that. In total honesty, drugged or not, they couldn’t exactly refuse the water Zachanassian was offering them. Although the two strangers had technically saved them, they were still very much in control of the situation, and Benji highly doubted that Ethan, Jane, Will, and he would be allowed to leave without Reiss and Zachanassian’s say so. 

Reiss leaned over and also took a sip from Zachanassian’s glass. 

Apparently that sealed the deal for Ethan, because he poured a liberal amount of water into his own cup before passing it to Jane who followed his lead. By the time the water got to Benji, he had to physically restrain himself from guzzling it directly from bottle, and when he finally took a drink he was pretty sure that nothing has ever tasted better. 

“So,” Ethan said, looking across the table at Reiss and Zachanassian, his gaze unwavering. “Explain.” 

“SHIELD exists,” Reiss answered smoothly, seeming unperturbed by Ethan’s stare. 

Benji half wanted to shout, “I knew it!” but that would be far too unprofessional. That and he was feeling remarkably tired at the moment, despite the fact that he’d just been unconscious for an unknown amount of time. Who knew being locked up in a cell could be so exhausting? 

“Yes, we’re aware,” Jane replied, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“Then I’m sure you’re also aware that ‘Mortiz Zachanassian,’ ‘Naomi Reiss,’ and ‘William Brandt’ don’t actually exist,” Reiss – or, well, not-Reiss – continued, lacing her fingers together and placing them on the table in front of her. “I am SHIELD Agent Natasha Romanov, and these are Agents Phil Coulson and Clint Barton.” 

Benji felt that he should be surprised – that he should be eager to learn more. However, at the moment this just seemed like another headache for him to deal with. He rubbed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“And that’s all we’re going to tell you,” Zachanassian – Coulson – _whoever_ – said, his tone exactly as calm as it always had been, to the point where it was so calm that it seemed to be putting Benji to sleep. 

“Why’s that?” Ethan asked, and Benji glanced over to see his team leader’s eyelids drooping in an uncharacteristic show of tiredness and weakness. 

“Because you’re not going to remember this anyway,” Reiss-Romanov answered, her voice oddly muffled. 

Benji closed his eyes and slumped forward onto the table, thrust into unconscious for the second time in twenty four hours. 

\---

Date: November 28, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 1:30 pm

“What did you give them?” Clint demanded, frowning at Natasha and his fiancé after the last IMF agent’s head hit the table. 

“It’s a new retcon prototype that R&D’s been working on. It should erase their memories of anyone whose name was mentioned in conversation – i.e. you, me, and Coulson,” Natasha replied impassively as she stood up from the table and stretched languidly, grabbing her cup and throwing the rest of the water down the drain. “Don’t worry – the compound was in the bottom of their glasses. You shouldn’t have gotten any.” 

“But I cleared all of them!” Clint protested, fully scowling now. “None of them were HYDRA.” 

“You cleared all of them but Hunt,” Phil corrected, reaching over to thread his fingers through Clint’s, giving his hand a soft, apologetic squeeze. “We couldn’t take the risk.” 

“But – I – I was about to clear him,” Clint replied, glancing back over at the unconscious man in question. “I have the full report on my laptop. I was just about to send it before all of… _this_ happened.” 

“Well, it’s too late now,” Phil said, shaking his head. 

“So that’s it?” Clint asked, feeling a little numb as he stared at the prone bodies of his sort-of-teammates. “They don’t remember me and I’ll never see them again?” 

“Don’t tell me you got attached, Clint,” Natasha said, raising one eyebrow at him. “You knew you were going to have to leave sooner or later. Would them knowing have made it any easier?” 

“Of course not,” Clint sighed, holding Phil’s hand a little tighter. “But, I mean, what about all of the IMF’s records of me? And the other agents who remember me? Aren’t they going to figure out – ”

“Sitwell’s already on it,” Phil replied, shaking his head. “Any recorded mention of you, electronic, print, or whatever else, should be gone before the day is out. As for other agents who you’ve interacted with, how many of them are still there since we cleaned the whole place out with the Ghost Protocol?” 

“Oh,” was all that Clint could manage to say. 

Phil squeezed his hand again and leaned in to place a soft kiss on Clint’s lips, lingering for a moment, but not deepening it. Clint moved a little closer and buried his head in the crook of his fiancé’s neck. He tried to focus on his breathing, taking in deep, steady lungfuls of air. This was why he didn’t normally take long undercover missions, after all. Unless the people he was dealing with were complete monsters, he tended to get attached to them. This, of course, made it much easier for him to get his targets to trust him. However, it also made leaving that much harder. 

“I missed you,” Phil murmured softly, his breath tickling Clint’s ear. 

“I missed you, too,” Clint replied, because although he liked his IMF team, he’d give all of them up a million times to be with Phil. 

“Please tell me you two aren’t having a moment while there are three other people passed out on the other side of the table,” Clint heard Natasha groan. “слабоумные.”

Clint stuck his tongue out at her in response. 

“So what are we going to do with them?” Clint asked, pulling away from Phil to look back at Ethan, Jane, and Benji. 

“We’ll bring them to the hospital and say that we found them passed out somewhere,” Natasha answered as she examined Benji, trying to figure out the best way to carry him. “The IMF will do the rest from there.” 

“And the final IMF mole?” Clint questioned, frowning slightly. “Clearly I missed someone.” 

“Do you have any idea who?” Natasha replied, looking at him carefully. 

“I’m afraid not,” Clint answered, his face screwed up in a frustrated, self deprecating look. “Also, HYDRA somehow got a hold of my codes, along with the names Phil and I are registered to be married under. And their goal is the Tesseract.”

Both Natasha and his fiancé’s expressions turned grave at this revelation. 

“You know, the IMF might not have a direct mole,” Phil mused, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the table, still clutching Clint’s hand with his right. “Obviously there’s someone inside SHIELD, so maybe they’re manipulating the IMF somehow. Finding them should be our first priority.” 

“I agree,” Natasha said, nodding. 

“We should be careful about who we involve in this,” Phil warned, and Clint could already see the plans developing in his fiancé’s mind. “The mole must be fairly high up to have found the information that they did.” 

“I say we go directly to Fury,” Natasha suggested, her voice firm. “We shouldn’t involve anyone else.” 

“We better get moving, then,” Clint replied, standing up from his chair, only to find himself swaying slightly on his feet. 

“We need to get you some proper food, too,” Phil added, wrapping an arm around Clint’s waist in order to help support him. 

“When’s our extraction?” Clint asked, leaning back into Phil’s touch, his fiancé’s familiar smell making him relax again, even though his instinctual response was to flinch away. 

“May should be here in two hours,” Natasha answered, checking her watch. “Looks like we’ll just have to drop the bodies somewhere and make a 911 call.”

“I can clear out the safe house while you two do that,” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to let his gaze linger on his former teammates. 

Natasha looked at him for a moment, calculating, before nodding. Clint tried to ignore the way she hefted Benji up onto her shoulder like some ragdoll, his arms flopping around awkwardly as she tried to determine the best way to carry him. 

“Hey,” Phil murmured, a soft expression on his face, making Clint look over at him in question. “Welcome home.”

These two small words brought a smile to Clint’s lips and he leaned back into his fiancé’s embrace. Because no matter how much he’d liked his IMF team, no matter how attached to them he’d become, it wasn’t ever really real. This, though – this was real. This was home, and, honestly, it was good to be back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane doesn't remember. Neither does Ethan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late, guys! It's here, though! (Please don't hate me!)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: memory loss

Date: November 29, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 12:07 am

When Jane woke up, she found herself in a hospital. She knew it was a hospital because, honestly, she’d been in too many. She’d _woken up_ in too many. 

This time, though, was different, because she had absolutely no idea why she was in the hospital. Normally that would be her main concern – she would wake up with a spike of adrenaline because she was waiting for an attacker to spring out at her. But right now she just felt tired. Not necessarily calm, just tired. 

Jane glanced around the room, blinking as she realized that she wasn’t alone. Well, she was alone in the sense that she was the only one conscious, but Benji was lying in the bed to her left and Ethan was in the one on her right. She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, digging deep and trying to remember any of the details of how she came to be lying in this hospital bed. 

She remembered a mission – of course it was a mission. When wasn’t it? She remembered… that they were searching for someone. That they’d been searching for someone for quite a while and that they hadn’t been getting any closer to finding them. She remembered being attacked and… and…

Jane let out a hiss of frustration and opened her eyes again. She stared up at the stark white ceiling for a moment before pushing herself up onto her elbows and squirming into a sitting position. She frowned as she realized that she wasn’t feeling any pain, but she wasn’t feeling woozy like she would if she was on painkillers. Honestly, it seemed like she wasn’t injured at all. 

But why the hell would she be in the hospital, then? 

Actually, she _was_ injured, she realized as she inspected her arm. Her left bicep was neatly bandaged, and she felt a small twinge as she rotated it, trying to get assess it. Of course, she couldn’t see much of it considering how it was dressed. It must not have been very severe, though, because she could tell that she wasn’t on any pain meds, except maybe some local anesthetic. 

Jane considered unraveling the dressing, but decided against it, because she didn’t want to have to try to awkwardly re-bandage it afterwards with just one hand. She’d have Ethan or Benji help her with it later. 

Ethan and Benji. Oh.

The IMF agent looked over at her teammates again, both of whom seemed to still be soundly unconscious. She shifted around in her bed, swinging her feet over the side so that she could step down onto the cold linoleum floor. She stood, a little unstable, feeling surprisingly weak, but she regained her balance soon enough and set about finding some proper clothing to replace the hospital gown she was clad in. 

Jane rummaged around the room for a moment before coming to the conclusion that none of their clothing or other personal effects were there. She moved over to the doorway and poked her head out into the hallway, blinking as she found that it, like her room, was not lit. She squinted at the clock on the wall a little ways down the corridor, eventually making out the fact that it was a little past midnight. Of course, that told her nothing about what day it was. 

She withdrew back into the room and glanced over at Ethan and Benji again. She sighed, realizing that her chance of finding actual clothes without knocking someone out was pretty low, deciding to at least be grateful that her gown was the right size and was tied properly so that it actually covered her backside. 

Rubber a hand over her tired eyes before straightening herself out again, Jane walked softly over the cool linoleum floor towards Ethan’s bed. She was more than a little wary of waking him, which was only logical, because she’d seen how he reacted to being pulled into consciousness unexpectedly before. 

But, well, she was going to have to do this eventually, so she might as well get it over with quickly. 

“Ethan,” she hissed softly, shaking the man’s shoulder. 

She jerked back as his eyes snapped open and he lashed out, although his blow was surprisingly inaccurate, considering his normal level of skill. Thankfully, however, before he was able to take another swing at Jane, his eyes widened in recognition and Jane could actually see the tension bleed out of his body. 

“Hospital?” he asked, his voice low as he glanced around the room. 

“Yeah,” Jane answered, heading over to Benji as Ethan attempted to sit up. “It’s a little past midnight, although I’m not sure what day it is. Can you remember how we got here?”

“We…” Ethan started, frowning and scrunching his face in concentration in a way that Jane found rather amusing. “…had a mission.”

“When do we not?” Jane snorted as she reached over to shake Benji awake. “All I can recall is that we were tracking someone and we were ambushed – possibly kidnapped.” 

“I think I remember something like that,” Ethan said, frowning as he heaved himself up out of his bed and looked down at the hospital gown he was clad in. “Have you seen my clothes?”

“Ethan, if I’d seen _any_ other clothes do you think I would still be wearing this thing?” Jane shot back, shaking Benji a bit harder when he still remained unconscious. 

“I’m going to see if I can find a phone to contact the IMF with,” Ethan replied, stretching for a moment before heading for the door. “I’ll be back shortly.” 

“You do that,” Jane said, still looking at Benji and starting to worry that maybe he’s sustained a major injury and that was why he wouldn’t wake up. 

Fuck, maybe he was in a _coma_. 

Benji mumbled something and rolled over.

\---

Date: December 1, 2011  
Location: Washington DC, America  
Time: 3:48 pm

Ethan Hunt was home. Well, he was home in the sense that he was physically inside the apartment which he owned and lived in when he wasn’t on a mission. Which wasn’t very often, actually. So maybe it would be better to just say “he was in his apartment.” It was more accurate, strictly speaking. 

It had been two days since he, Jane, and Benji had woken up in a hospital in New York with no recollection of how they’d gotten there. They had contacted the IMF as soon as they could and had been extracted back to the IMF headquarters in Washington DC, where they’d done their best to piece together what had happened. 

However, the rest of the IMF wasn’t being very helpful. Apparently there was no record at all of their team having being assigned any missions after the one with the gun runner in Armenia which Ethan distinctly remembered finishing on the fifteenth. 

Of course, he also distinctly remembered being assigned some sort of mission directly afterwards, so who knew how reliable his mind was at the moment?

What Ethan really needed right now was to talk to the Secretary, but apparently he was away at some sort of top secret meeting and would be out of contact for another few days at least. Jane and Benji had talked of a few other agents who were typically involved in the setup and management of their missions – organizing extractions, etc. – but they were involved in the planning of so many different missions that none of them could reliably tell them what his team’s latest mission was about. 

Ethan sighed as he walked into his bedroom, dropping his keys down onto his dresser. However, he paused when he looked up. 

Taped to the mirror above the dresser was a photograph of a man who he could not for the life of him recognize. In fact, he’d be inclined to believe that this man was the mysterious target they’d been chasing on the mission-they-couldn’t-remember if it wasn’t for the fact that he could make out part of Jane in the right corner.

The man had short, dirty blond hair and was sitting in what looked like a restaurant booth. He would have been smiling directly at the camera, and his cheeks were slightly flushed, as if he’d been laughing. He had pretty eyes.

Ethan blinked, replaying that last thought:

“He has pretty eyes.”

He frowned and shook his head slightly, trying to clear it before looking at the photograph again. He tried to come up with any reason that he’d have a photo of a stranger taped to his bedroom mirror, but he couldn’t for the life of him come up with any. 

Ethan took out his phone, planning to call Jane and Benji to see if either of them could identify the man in the photograph, but before he dialed he paused, his finger hovering over the phone screen. Instead, he found himself scrolling through his photos. 

What he found was… well, it was nearly overwhelming. Oh, the earliest photos where what he expected – ones of Julia and him together, some of just Julia alone. The more recent ones were of Jane and Benji, which wasn’t terribly surprising, but the stranger – the man whose picture was taped to his mirror – featured in even more of them. There were ones of him with Jane and Benji, ones of him by himself, ones of him with Ethan himself. 

Ethan stared at a photo of him and the stranger standing together on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. His arm was slung over the other man’s shoulders and although the stranger looked a little annoyed he also looked… happy. 

The photograph seemed to be mocking him, making fun of the fact that he knew nothing about this man or his own memories. Oh, he remembered that trip to the Empire State Building: they’d just finished up a mission in New York and Jane had mentioned that although she’d been in New York a million times for work, she’d never done any of the stupid tourist-y things that you were supposed to do while visiting New York. Benji had then decided that all of them needed the true tourist experience and insisted on spending the next day doing said stupid tourist-y things. 

However, Ethan couldn’t remember there being anyone but Benji, Jane, and him. 

He frowned and called Jane. 

“Hey, Jane,” he said when he heard her pick up, still staring ahead at the photograph taped to his mirror. “Do you remember a guy with short, dirty blonde hair and kind of blue-gray eyes? He would have been with us when we went sightseeing in New York back in March.” 

“Ethan? What? No,” Jane replied, sounding confused. “It was just us and Benji. Sorry – why are you asking me this?”

“I have some photos of him,” Ethan admitted, moving back to sit on the foot of his bed, still facing the mirror. “There have got to be thirty at least, and I don’t remember taking any of them and I don’t remember the guy at all. I have pictures of you and him together.”

“Here, look, why don’t you call Benji and ask him about it?” Jane said, and Ethan could hear some shuffling in the background. “I’ll look through whatever photos I have and see if I find anything. I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Okay,” Ethan replied, taking a deep breath. “That sounds good.”

“See you then,” Jane answered before hanging up. 

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, messing it up and making himself look even more harried. He just sat there for a moment before picking up the phone again and calling Benji this time, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh as he waited for the other man to pick up. 

“Benji,” Ethan said before the tech agent was able to get out even a simple greeting. “Do you have any photographs of a man with short, dirty blond hair and blue eyes?”

“Sorry?” Benji replied, clearly confused. “Is this a mission thing, or – ”

“It might be,” Ethan interrupted, cutting Benji off. “Look, I just need you to look through all of the photos you’ve taken recently, personal photos, to see if anyone matching that description turns up. And meet me at my apartment in ten.” 

“In ten? But I – ” Benji sputtered, before sighing. “Fine. I’ll be there.” 

“Thanks,” Ethan said, almost as an afterthought. 

“What? Sure,” he replied, taken off guard. “It’s clearly important to you, so, you know. I’ll be there.” 

“Ten minutes,” Ethan repeated, smiling slightly despite himself. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving now,” Benji replied, exasperated, before hanging up. 

Ethan brought the phone down from his ear before going back into his photos and scrolling through them, wondering if looking at them a second time would change anything. He sighed as no epiphanies came before looking back up at the original photograph – the one taped to his mirror. 

He still couldn’t help but think that the stranger had pretty eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: memory loss

Date: December 1, 2011  
Location: Washington DC, America  
Time: 11:29 pm 

Benji Dunn was quite certain that he had never seen this man in his life. Sure, Ethan may have about ten photographs of them together, but Benji could not for the life of him remember them being taken. He remembered the trips, of course, but this stranger? Nada. 

“So, remind me again,” Benji started, rubbing his temples as he leafed through the pictures that Ethan had printed out and spread across his kitchen table. “Why do you have so many photos of this guy? Was he, like, your boyfriend or something? And, you know, no judgment here.” 

“I,” Ethan began, pausing in a way that normally would have made Benji think he was lying if he wasn’t aware that Ethan legitimately has memory loss. “I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“Well, that would certainly explain some of the photographs, but it doesn’t make sense for others,” Jane said, frowning slightly as she examined the ones of the stranger with them on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. “Like this one, for example. I remember the trip, at least, and it was after a mission. He would have had to have been on the mission with us.” 

“So you’re saying he’s IMF,” Ethan clarified, frowning. 

“Yes, and it looks like he worked with our team pretty often,” she answered, her own frown mirroring Ethan’s. 

“Hey, Ethan, have you looked through your phone’s contacts list yet?” Benji asked suddenly, looking over at the other man. “If we knew him in a nonprofessional capacity like these photos suggest, then he should probably be in there. Just look for a name you don’t recognize.”

Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. He didn’t appear to have many, but Benji hoped that this wasn’t just a dead end. They needed _something_ to go on at this point – or at least a little more than a few photos taken on Ethan’s personal phone. 

Neither he nor Jane had found any pictures of the stranger on their phones or laptops or anywhere, really. Now that he thought about it more, it was a little odd that he’d had so few photos on his phone overall. Normally he loved taking pictures of things, and although he was fairly sure that there weren’t any pictures missing from his phone, he felt like he just should have more in general. He’d have to check his phone for tampering. 

“William Brandt,” Ethan said suddenly, breaking Benji out of his thoughts. “That’s the only name I don’t recognize. The number’s near the top of my recent calls list, too.” 

“William Brandt,” Benji muttered, pulling his laptop towards him and opening it. 

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it still wasn’t ringing any bells. He tried looking back at one of the photographs and repeating the name in his mind, but that didn’t seem to really help. Well, the name seemed to fit the man, though. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it did. Maybe that meant something. 

Sighing softly, Benji tore his eyes away from the photo and back to his computer screen. He logged into the IMF employee database first and entered the name, waiting a moment for the search to complete. Unfortunately, no matches were found. He frowned and opened the IMF wanted persons database instead and did the same thing, but, again, came up with nothing. 

“Well, from my cursory check, the IMF has no record of him,” Benji said, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to type rapidly, searching through other databases. “And from a simple google search, I can’t find any ‘William Brandt’s who seem like they could be who we’re looking for.”

“We always have his phone number,” Ethan pointed out, still staring intently at the first photograph he’d found – the one that had been taped to the mirror in his bedroom. 

“So how do we want to proceed?” Jane asked, drumming her fingers lightly on the tabletop. “We should inform the IMF – ”

“No,” Ethan said suddenly, cutting her off and startling both Jane and Benji. 

“What? Ethan, we have to – ” Benji started, staring at his team leader. 

“At the moment we have no idea how much memory loss we’ve suffered,” Ethan interrupted, looking up at the other two IMF agents. “All we know is that something happened to us on a mission that there are no records of and that we’ve forgotten a man who was somehow involved with our team and the IMF.”

“So you think the IMF is involved in this man’s disappearance and our memory loss,” Jane clarified, her lips pressed in a tight line. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Ethan replied, nodding slightly. 

“So we’re going to – what? Try and find this guy on our own?” Benji asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you’re right and the IMF did make him disappear, then who’s to say he’s not just dead already?” 

“He very well could be dead,” Ethan said, which, you know, wasn’t exactly what Benji was hoping he’d say. “Benji, how well can you track calls?”

“What? Yes, of course I can do it – ” Benji answered, blinking.

“Good, because I once you’re finished setting up, I’m going to call him,” Ethan replied, his tone matter of fact, “you’re going to trace the call, and then we’re going to pay him a visit.” 

Benji opened his mouth to protest, but closed it as Ethan gave him a dangerous look. He sighed and started setting up his laptop. 

“I’m going to need a bit of time,” he said, frowning, but going along with Ethan. 

“Then you better get started,” Ethan answered calmly. 

Benji just glared at him. 

\---

Date: December 2, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 1:30 am

Clint lay, sound asleep, curled up securely in his husband’s arms. Phil was spooning him from behind, and normally he found that sort of thing embarrassing, but they’d been separated for long enough that Clint was starving for pretty much any sort of contact. Phil’s breath ghosted across his neck, but the feeling didn’t wake him – he was far too exhausted for that. 

Suddenly, a phone rang.

Now that did wake him. He groaned as the ringing jolted him awake, making him grasp blindly around for the cell phone which was sitting on the bedside table. He felt Phil stir behind him, also being drawn into consciousness by the commotion. 

“’llo?” Clint slurred upon answering the phone, his sleep clouded mind trying to run through the list of who could possibly be calling him.

He blinked and dropped the phone, realization dawning on him. 

“Fuck,” he swore, quickly ending the call, running a hand through his hair. “Goddamn it.”

“What is it?” Phil asked, sitting up and leaning towards Clint, the tiredness rapidly vanishing from his voice as he went into agent mode. 

“I was supposed to be monitoring this stupid mission phone so that I could notify the crew in charge of cleanup if anyone called and therefore still had access to information about me, but I fucking answered it!” Clint answered, growling in frustration. 

“Do you think they had time to track our location?” Phil questioned, already getting up to retrieve his own SHIELD issue phone. 

“I don’t know,” Clint sighed, still glaring at the phone in question. “If it was Be – uh, Dunn, then maybe, but the number was blocked, so I don’t know if it was him.” 

“I suppose the fact that the number was blocked means that it wasn’t just a wrong number,” Phil said, frowning. 

“God fucking damn it,” Clint muttered under his breath, standing up from the bed and turning on the lights, starting to rummage around in his dresser drawers for a proper set of clothes. “I just had to go and completely fuck this over with my stupid fucking – ”

“Hey,” Phil said, putting a hand on Clint’s waist and kissing him lightly on the lips. “Stop panicking. We can figure this out, okay? It’s, what, four hours from DC to here, right? If we go about this efficiently, we’ll be fine. Plus, we don’t even know for certain if they were able to trace the call.” 

“Okay,” Clint murmured, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning into Phil’s touch. “Okay, I – okay.” 

“There we go,” Phil said softly and kissed his fiancé again, a little deeper this time, but nothing distracting – just grounding. “Now, I want you to call Fury and explain the situation. I’m going to start securing anything sensitive we have in the apartment.” 

“Okay,” Clint replied, for what felt like the millionth time.

Phil squeezed his hand comfortingly before pulling away and moving out of the bedroom. Clint sighed again once he’d left the room, running a hand through his hair, making his bed head even worse than it had been. He picked up his phone – the right one, this time, which he’d stupidly placed on his bedside table right next to the old IMF one – and dialed Fury’s number, idly wondering how pissed off the director was going to be for call him at 1:38 in the morning. 

“Barton, if you don’t have a damn good reason for calling me at whatever-the-fuck-o’clock in the morning, then you can expect a new long term mission file on your desk come Saturday,” Fury grumbled, his voice rough from sleep. 

“Yeah, well, about long term missions,” Clint started, sitting back down on the bed and tapping the fingers of his free hand on his thigh nervously. “I might not be quite finished with the last one.” 

“What do you mean you’re not finished with your last one?” Fury asked, his tone dangerous. 

“I was supposed to be monitoring my old phone to make sure that all of the relevant information had been destroyed, but I accidentally answered it when I got a call about ten minutes ago,” Clint admitted, sighing. “The caller was blocked, so we’re assuming the worst. Coulson’s already starting to pack our things in case the call was traced.” 

“Motherfucker,” Fury swore, and Clint could practically hear him frowning over the line. “Well, I suppose it’s as good a time as any to inform you that you and Coulson are being reassigned to Project PEGASUS.” 

“Sir?” Clint asked, confused. 

“Ask Coulson for the details,” Fury said, and Clint could hear him shuffling about in the background of the call. “Either way, I’m shifting wheels up to six. Grab whatever you want from your place now, because I can’t guarantee that it’ll still be there when you get back.”

“But weren’t we going to – ” Clint started, only to be cut off by Fury again.

“Barton, you will learn what you need to know when you need to know it,” the director said, his tone firm. “At the moment, I do not have the time nor the inclination – as it is nearly two in the goddamn morning – to explain it to you.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Clint replied, conceding to Fury’s orders. 

“Good,” Fury answered, sounding satisfied. “Now I’d suggest you start packing. You’re running out of time.”

With that, Fury hung up, leaving Clint just about as frustrated as he was before, but at least with a course of action to follow. 

“Hey, Phil,” he called, sticking his head into the hallway. “What’s Project PEGASUS?” 

Phil swore. 

\---

Date: December 2, 2011  
Location: Washington DC, America  
Time: 1:41 am

“They’re in New York City,” Benji announced, looking up from his computer and over at Jane and Ethan. “And the bad news is that I think they noticed that there was something wrong with the call.” 

“We’re not going to get there soon enough,” Jane clarified, frowning. 

“Well, possibly,” Benji replied, pulling out his cell phone. “The good news is that I know a guy.” 

“Who?” Ethan asked, looking at Benji skeptically. 

“Oh, just a old friend from university,” Benji answered, grinning slightly. “One who owns a jet.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone makes a cameo and Clint runs out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it's a day late, but happy birthday to narnia2375. :)
> 
> Trigger warnings: memory loss, talk of deception/manipulation

Date: December 2, 2011  
Location: Somewhere Above New York City, New York, America  
Time: 2:45 am

“So, remind me again, why did you need me to take you to New York?” the man whose plane Ethan was currently occupying asked. 

Which, of course, made Ethan kind of wonder whether it was really safe or healthy to be traveling with him. He was a famous billionaire, though, so maybe just all ultra-rich people were like this. Then again, this was Tony Stark. For some reason Stark struck Ethan as a little different from the other billionaire playboys he regularly dealt with. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Stark continued, smiling at them a little mischievously. “The view is nice.” 

Maybe Stark wasn’t all that different. 

“It’s a work thing,” Benji answered, his cheeks reddening slightly as Stark winked at him, and wow, that was something Ethan did _not_ need to know about. 

“You’re not still playing spy, are you?” Stark asked, pouring a glass of scotch and offering it around the plane before downing it himself. “What was it? The FIM? MFI?”

“IMF,” Jane interrupted, looking less than amused with Stark. 

“That’s it,” Stark said, snapping his fingers and pointing in Jane’s direction. “Impossible Missions Force. Kind of a pretentious name, don’t you think?” 

“Then you’d fit right in,” Jane muttered, only loud enough for Ethan to hear, whose lips twitched up into a small smile. 

“You know, if you want there’ll always be a spot for you at Stark Industries,” the billionaire continued, still looking at Benji. “Whole workshop to yourself, any gadget you want. I could build you a supercomputer. Want a supercomputer?” 

Ethan Hunt decided that he really didn’t like Tony Stark, which had absolutely nothing to do with the hungry, glazed over look that Benji’s eyes took on when Stark mentioned supercomputers. Not that he actually thought that Benji would take him up on the offer, no matter how tempting. Probably. 

“Sir, we are beginning our descent,” a robotic voice said suddenly, interrupting the conversation. “According to my current safety protocols, I must now require you and your guests to fasten your seatbelts and return your seats to their upright positions.” 

“I thought I deleted those protocols,” Stark replied, taking another swig of scotch. 

“You did, Sir,” the robot intercom answered. “Ms. Potts had Ms. Rushman reload them.” 

“Those traitors,” Stark said, although there wasn’t any anger or even annoyance in his tone as he shot Benji a ‘see what I have to deal with’ sort of look. “Now do you see why I need some allies, Ben?” 

Benji and Stark continued to chat while Ethan and Jane sat in silent solidarity as they waited for the plane to land. It didn’t take too much longer, and soon enough they were touching down on the runway. Ethan couldn’t get out of the plane fast enough, descending the stairs with the sort of urgent grace that he seemed to do most mission related things with.

“Where do you need to go?” Stark asked Benji as they walked and talked at a pace that was far too slow for Ethan’s liking. “I can have Natalie bring around a car – wait, Happy, where’s Natalie?” 

“She’s taking the day off. Something about a family emergency,” the large man in a suit – probably Stark’s bodyguard – said as he waited next to a flashy red Tesla Roadster. 

“We need to go,” Ethan said softly as he walked up to Benji and put a hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his conversation with Stark. 

“Yes, fine, Ethan,” Benji sighed before turning to Stark and saying his goodbyes as Ethan loomed over his shoulder and Jane waited impatiently a few feet away. 

“Don’t forget to call me!” Stark yelled to Benji as the IMF agents walked away. “We can get together for drinks with Rhodey and reminisce about blowing up chemistry labs at MIT!”

Benji waved at Stark once more before Ethan dragged him away, towards a waiting taxi. They directed the driver to the approximate location of the call they’d tracked a few hours prior, and soon enough the IMF team was standing in front of an apartment building in Bed Stuy. 

“Do we have any idea what apartment it is, or are we going to have to knock on every door,” Jane asked, frowning up at the building. 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t pinpoint the location exactly enough to get anything more specific than this building, and even then, it’s a bit of a miracle that I was able to get that much,” Benji said, grimacing slightly. “This is going to take a while. And it’s 3:30 am.”

“Let’s get moving. We’ll split up inside,” Ethan commanded, stepping forward and striding through the main doors of the apartment building. 

And was promptly run into by a man carrying a large cardboard box. 

“Aw, box, no. I’m so sorry – ” the man started, peering over the tall cardboard before abruptly sucking in a sharp breath. “E-Ethan?” 

Something clicked in Ethan Hunt’s mind. 

\---

Date: December 2, 2011  
Location: New York City, New York, America  
Time: 3:30 am

Clint Barton cursed internally at his own stupidity and horrible luck. He stepped backwards, trying to subtly put some distance between him and Ethan, but the IMF agent’s hand shot out and grasped his forearm tightly, halting his movement. Clint nervously glanced over Ethan’s shoulder, his heart sinking even further as he saw Jane and Benji standing right behind him, although they both had looks of confusion on their faces instead of recognition. 

“Will,” Ethan said, and for some reason his tone held more relief than anger despite his tight grip on Clint’s arm. “Will, you – ”

“Ethan,” Jane said, her voice sharp as he put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him back slightly. “What’s going on?” 

Ethan glanced back at her, his face contorted in confusion, his eyes widening minutely as he studied her expression before he looked over at Benji and did the same thing. His own expression grew stony as he tightened his lips into a thin line. 

“You still don’t remember?” he asked, pulling Will forward roughly so that he was situated right in front of Jane. “It’s _Will_. It’s him.” 

“Yes, I can see that he’s the man from your pictures, but – ” she stared just as Clint gasped out, “ _Jane_ ,” pleading her to somehow help him with this situation. 

As soon as the word left his lips, she cut herself off, staring at him for a moment with wide eyes. She reached a hand up as if to touch him, but drew it back abruptly, her expression of confusion and wonder replaced by one of revulsion, making Clint’s stomach twist itself into nauseous knots. Ethan’s grip on his forearm was still tight and Clint bit his lip as he tried to figure out how he was going to get himself out of this. 

“Let go of him, Hunt,” a wonderfully, gloriously familiar voice demanded calmly, making Clint relax slightly. “Back away.” 

Ethan released his bruising grip on Clint’s arm and backed away slightly, but it was hardly more than a step. He looked over at Phil who was as calm as ever, pointing a gun steadily at his chest. 

“So this is who you really are,” Ethan said, turning back to Clint and fixing him with a cold stare, his tone carefully devoid of emotion. 

Clint was unable to help the way he flinched, unable to meet Ethan’s eyes. 

“You and Jane and Benji were – ” Clint stuttered, glancing over at the other two IMF agents. “I can explain – ”

“Explain? Like you did last time?” Jane retorted, and, fuck, that hurt, even though it was completely true. (Possibly because it was completely true.)

“I couldn’t just tell you – ” Clint started, trying to explain his actions somehow, but he cut himself off as he felt a hand press gently between his shoulder blades, making him look around to find his fiancé standing next to him. 

“Clint,” Phil said softly, and Clint nodded and let him take over this utter clusterfuck of a situation. 

“I’m putting on the safety now,” Phil continued, turning to look at the three IMF agents now and slowly and deliberately doing just as he said in plain sight of the others. “Then we can go up to the apartment and we can talk.”

Ethan looked less than pleased with that option, but he must have realized that it was his only viable one, and so he gave a small nod of assent. In a remarkable show of trust, Phil carefully turned both himself and Clint around to lead Ethan, Jane, and Benji to the stairwell, leaving their backs completely open. None of the IMF agents made any move to attack them, though, which Clint was more than grateful for. 

It didn’t take them all that long to walk up to the apartment. When they got there, however, the door swung open before Clint or Phil could even touch the doorknob. 

“Clint, I just heard from Stark that – ” Natasha started, standing in the doorway in all her deadly glory, and she immediately drew herself up into a defensive stance when she caught sight of the three IMF agents behind him. 

“Yeah, we kind of already figured that out,” Clint said dryly, trying to cover how his insides were tying themselves in guilty, nervous knots as he anticipated the coming conversation.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She stepped aside, opening the door wider in order to let everyone inside. Clint grimaced as he took in the state of disarray the apartment was in, half packed boxes strewn all around the floor and paper haphazardly thrown in differently categorized piles as a fire blazed in a large pot on the stove which they’d been using to burn no longer important sensitive documents. Thankfully the couch was still intact, though, and Clint motioned for the three IMF agents to sit down, dragging a few chairs from the kitchen for Natasha, Phil, and himself to sit on. 

“So, uh. Didn’t realize you guys knew Ton – ” Clint started awkwardly, only to be cut off by Ethan’s harsh tone. 

“We’ll ask the questions,” he said, and Clint had to resist the urge to flinch again, but thankfully Phil’s soothing hand was on him again, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. 

Clint couldn’t help but notice the way Ethan’s sharp eyes tracked the movement, though – the way his gaze traveled between Clint and his fiancé, his hand grasping at his pant leg, crumpling it. Clint bit his lip, suddenly remembering all of those times he’d caught Ethan’s gaze lingering for just a second too long, feeling suddenly even more guilty even though he didn’t think he’d ever done anything to make Ethan think those feelings were reciprocated. 

“What’s your real name?” Jane asked, starting off the questioning session. 

“I’m Phil Coulson and – ” Phil started, relieving some of the burden from Clint, but he was quickly interrupted. 

“Not you. Him,” Jane said, and Clint was momentarily startled by her expression – the sort of which he hadn’t seen since she’d killed Moreau. 

Clint was chilled by the realization that he’d caused such an expression. 

“My name’s Clint,” he replied after a moment, wetting his suddenly dry lips with his tongue. “Clinton Francis Barton, codename Hawkeye.” 

He saw Benji’s mouth fall open slightly as he mentioned his codename, and Ethan’s eyes narrowed noticeably. Jane’s frown became slightly deeper and Clint momentarily wondered if he should have left out that part. 

What was the point, though? They’d proven that he couldn’t get away from them even with a heavy dose of retcon. Really, if he wanted to get rid of them it looked like the only way would be to kill them.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and by the way, for those of you who don't already know, if you want to send me writing prompts, my official tumblr is authorkurikuri.tumblr.com


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